Panoply
by vaniarosier
Summary: Draco pursues his mate, perhaps the one woman he cannot charm. D/Hr Veela!Draco
1. Chapter One

I am new to writing, no, _posting_ fanfiction. I hope you enjoy! *crosses fingers*

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 **In Which Draco confesses his concerns to Miss Parkinson**

In a rather large leather chair behind the rather large mahogany desk of his rather large window-walled office, Draco Malfoy sat listening to the near-hysteric ramblings of one very inflamed, pug-faced Pansy Parkinson. iWell, that's not fair,i/ his conscience reasoned. She doesn't resemble the whole pug any longer. It's just the nose now.

"Can you believe it? The bastard thought to cheat on me! Me! He waltzed into the room with a silly smile on his face like he'd won tickets to the Werewolf Brigade and just said 'Pansy I've cheated on you with Astoria Greengrass.' Filthy slag that she is I suppose it was a good shag," Draco didn't bother confirming her suspicions, "but it couldn't have been half as good as it was with me because otherwise he wouldn't have left her bed, would he now? After the first time we had a roll in the sheets the bastard wouldn't leave me for more than an hour for weeks! Anyway, I didn't bother hexing him, I just listed off the wizards I'd spent the night with since the conception of our 'relationship' if you could even call it that, and the bastard grew red in the face – almost as red as Weasley's hair – and called me all sorts of names," Draco bristled, "so I flipendo -ed his arse and removed him from my flat."

Draco plotted, his protectiveness getting the better of him. What was it about ill-equipped men? Almost all of them grew bitter and angry, petty and rude! The ones with the smallest wands were the ones the shout the loudest, his grandfather used to say, and Abraxas Malfoy was a sharp man, if not also funny and terribly mean. He was proud of Pansy for jinxing the dolt, and he would do much worse when he paid old Geoffrey a visit. "-And Draco, I know this sounds odd coming from me, but I think, after all this mess with Willard, that I'm finally ready! I'm tired of messing around, jumping from one bed to the next. It's high time I found myself a wizard!" she exclaimed, delightedly, eager to outgrow her juvenile ways. "I'm ready to shed my binty skin and trade it in for ten carats, which means I need your help."

"How exactly may I assist you with that?" Draco asked with thinly veiled amusement. No matter how determined he was to mind his own business, he knew the Slytherin witch would not let him slide by unnoticed. This meant he would have to comply or at least attempt to, lest he desired a few dozen curses aimed his way.

"Set me up with one of your mates! I promise it won't end like last time, though I am glad you don't associate with Smith anymore. Crying over my detailed explanation of why he was not my best shag ever was a bit much. He should've just taken the compliment I offered him first. Bit of a ninny if you ask me," she remarked. Draco's eyes widened in disbelief. It seemed Pansy was under the impression that he even knew who the man was, when really he'd just run into the young medi-wizard while he was at St. Mungo's.

"What mates have I got that you aren't already..." he paused, searching carefully for the appropriate word, "been acquainted with?" he finished, arching a pale eyebrow almost patronizingly.

"Is it supposed to be someone I haven't shagged yet?" Pansy asked, a bit thrown off by the idea. Now, she wasn't a slag, but she also wasn't a saint. It might be a bit of a challenge trying to find someone worthy that she hadn't pursued by now.

"Pans, I'm not trying to be rude, but how can I set you up with someone we both know and you've already slept with? Our friends already know you very well and would've expressed romantic interest had they felt it," he rationalized gently. It wasn't his aim to offend her, but he'd rather she be pained by his remarks than have her pride broken by some prat who misinterpreted her intentions.

"You're right," she muttered, sinking into the comfortable chair. She rolled her eyes at the predicament she had created for herself. "It is so incredibly unfair that witches can't get away with shagging the way wizards do! Our friends are all horny dolts, excluding you, of course, and they'll find love the moment they choose to look for it! I suppose I'll have to find someone new. Maybe a Hufflepuff?" she mused. "Draco almost gagged at the suggestion but resisted commenting, not wanting to offend his equal opportunity minded friend. He could comfortably maintain polite conversation with the badger-loving puffs, but he simply didn't trust them. There could not be such a large fraction of the wizarding community that was nice just to be nice. There had to be some lying scumbags mixed in the lot… "No, they're a bit too soft for what I have in mind for a life partner," she chuckled. "How about a Gryffindor? Oh, yes! That would certainly be a delightful chase!"

"A Gryffindor?" he started, a gleefully wicked smile breaking out across his face. "You've turned soft Parkinson."

"I've done no such thing," she retorted, holding tight to her house pride. "Is it wrong to want someone to come home to? Someone who cares whether or not I've had dinner? Someone that'll indulge all of my darkest fantasies?"

"It's not too much to ask," he admitted, solemnly. How could he not? After all, the only reason he was sitting in his office was because he had to distract his mind from thoughts of her. Of course there was also plenty of work to be done, but most of it could be done from home or by an assistant. He'd hired too well, leaving him with little to do aside from handling the big wigs. It was something that most business wizards aspired to, something that he had once aspired to, but now he wished he'd had more reason to be around, more busywork to distract him from the perils of his decreasing social life and non-existent romantic life. Sometimes he wondered how he'd transformed into the sluggish and stale shell of a man he was now. He used to think that during his younger years he was happy, but really he was just misguided. By sixth year his confidence had been subdued by the fear and darkness constantly in his midst. And after the war he was just tired; tired of being alone, tired of being scared, tired of being wrong, and tired of being tired.

The straight-haired woman immediately noticed her friend's discouraged disposition and could not resist inquiring about the subject that she knew was bringing him aggro and sorrow.

"When are you going to tell me, Draco?" she inquired softly, hoping her expression correctly conveyed the compassion she felt for her Slytherin brother. He had not indulged in the single life the way Witch Weekly portrayed him to have. Instead, it was quite the opposite. Draco Malfoy was more often alone than not, choosing the company of his garden gnomes and house elves to friends and lovers. He'd done quite a job of isolating himself, but with his twenty-third birthday approaching, Pansy had decided it was time to cut the codswallop and get to the point.

"Tell you what, Pansy?" he gritted through clenched teeth. His face hardened at the change of subject, lips thinning into a grim line, knuckles clenching and teeth grinding in concert.

"When are you going to tell me who she is," she clarified, jutting her chin out indignantly, unwilling to lose this fight. Losing this fight could mean that he would spend even more of his life miserable and eventually completely alone, possibly dead.

"There hasn't been a woman in my life for quite some time, now," he replied acerbically. "Unless you're counting my mother."

"Oh, come off it Draco! You act as if you never told me you're-"

"That's quite enough," he cut her off, coldly. Draco Malfoy had spent much of his life at the whims of other people. Now that he was a grown man, free of blood prejudice and dangerous dark wizards, he never wanted to live that way again. "You'll have to excuse me, I've got a meeting-"

"Stop fucking about, Malfoy!" Pansy demanded, raising her voice. "Now you've been moping around for years and I insist on knowing who you've chosen as-"

"You dare order me around in my own office, Parkinson?" he sneered hatefully, roughly pushing his chair away from the desk and stalking over to his scotch cantor. He knocked the glass together harshly as he poured himself a good six inches. Only after finishing at least four did he speak again.

He sighed, slumping his wide shoulders in a shameful heap. "I'm sorry, Pans, but I just can't deal with any of that right now, alright?" he requested passively. Pansy couldn't stand the sight of him. There he stood, one of the richest, most sought-after wizards of the magical world, and he had not even a bit of true happiness within himself. He was looking out at the world with drooped shoulders and a bowed head, two things a Malfoy should never be caught doing, even in death. Though she understood that other witches had ceased to exist to him after his condition had set in, she hated seeing him so forlorn. Since he had shared his secret, she had wished that he would have the courage to confront and accept who and what he was.

"Draco, you've got to accept what you are," she urged lightly. "There's no shame in it. You will be very well liked, cherished even! Didn't the war help us all in understanding-"

"I've already accepted what I am, Pansy!" he defended, riled at his friend's incorrect assumption. "That's not what I'm struggling with."

Pansy wavered for a moment, before questions began tumbling out a mile a minute: "Then what is it that holds you back? Is she hideous? No, I suppose love blinds and all that nonsense. Do your parents hate her? Does it interfere with your job? Has she got a boyfriend? Oh, she must be married! Is that it? No? Then what is the bloody problem, Malfoy? What is holding you back-"

"SHE'LL NEVER HAVE ME!" he shouted, partly because he was frazzled by her rambling and wasn't sure how else to get her attention, but mostly due to the frustration he felt at the truth of his words. "She'll never fucking have me, Pans. Now leave me alone!"

She would normally react equally as volatile, but the palpable anguish the statement had brought him stopped her words. Had she been younger she would've gone for her wand, but at the ripe age of twenty-two an evil plan began to form itself in her head.

If this stupid blond man isn't going to help himself out, then I'll have to do it for him, she decided. Besides, there wasn't a witch out there that wouldn't hand in her Glamaurus for an hour alone with him. Even before his traits kicked in he was devastating. He has to be barking mad to think anyone would turn him down!

"Have it your way, Draco," she deferred, standing from her seat and righting her plum dress. "I'll see you soon enough," she promised, apparating out of his office with a sly smirk on her pretty face.

Draco fell back on an armchair, tiredly dropping his head in his hand. He knew Pansy meant well, along with the rest of the people that knew, but he dreaded thinking of his mate. Which person would? In fact, Draco would give one million Galleons to the witch, wizard, or Muggle who could find a single veela that would enjoy discussing the subject of his or her mate when it was obvious that the bond would never be forged. It was a painful topic and not one he wished to dwell on. Blaise had once made the mistake of thinking the problem was with who his Veela had chosen, which had ended in a bloody nose and a broken jaw.

No, his mate was perfect, beyond it really, which was what made this mating impossible. She was one of a kind, feisty but sweet, humorous but stern, smart but oblivious. And it wasn't that she hated him. Oh no, Hermione Granger didn't hate just anyone. She was polite as ever, even helpful and warm when their paths crossed. But he didn't want her warmth. He wanted her fire, the heated lioness she hid from the world.

Since the war she'd been more timid around him, as though she expected some sort of attack or a nefarious plan to come to light. It enraged his Vey, consequently enraging him. It made Vey want to grip her by the hair, fuck some sense into her, and withhold her orgasm for at least an hour afterwards as a form of punishment. Punishment for even thinking he could cause her any harm. Of course, Veela would rather pull her in for a soft kiss and a slow love-making to show her that he was a changed man.

Either way, whether it was Veela or Vey that won out in the end, his mate would be frightened by his uncharacteristic behavior and disappear before his very eyes. He'd rather be an acquaintance, no matter how distant, than a rejected lover. But now that Parkinson was on the warpath he was sure he'd end up the latter.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered under his breath, before finishing off his firewhiskey in a huge gulp.

He had a feeling he would need it.

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I need reviews more than air. Please, take the time to review, my lovely Potterheads!


	2. Chapter Two

Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

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 **In Which Miss Parkinson recruits the help of her friends & Draco has fun with a Gryffindor**

"Blaise, get off your arse this instant!" Pansy shrieked into the sleeping wizard's ear, only seconds after she rushed out of his Floo. She had spotted the lazy bum splayed across a maroon chaise, robe splayed open and empty liquor bottles scattered along the side tables and marble, and had not wasted a moment.

The young wizard jolted up, almost falling off the furniture in his surprise. His first thought was that a certain fiery witch had finally given in to his undeniable charm and had returned to his flat to accept his proposal. Upon seeing Pansy, his friend and self-appointed heckler, jittering her leg and chewing her lip impatiently, he lay back and rested his head, shutting his eyes and relaxing into the soft velvet.

"Pansy, to what do I owe the displeasure?" he asked sleekly.

"Where's Theodore? Go get dressed! I'm not kidding, we've got a lot of work to do!" She hunkered down, making herself quite at home in Zabini's formal dining room.

Now Blaise Zabini was not as lethargic as some witches and warlocks faithfully believed, so he sat up, intrigued by his friend's irregular determination. Leisurely stretching his arms out he watched as she whipped out her wand to conjure quills, parchment, and pictures, along with a few other items he couldn't identify from his slouch on the couch.

"What've you got there, pug nose?" Theodore Nott asked, strolling in and seating himself at the long table. "I heard your screeching from two floors above while I was having myself a wank."

Pansy shuddered and threw a quick Scourgify over her shoulder.

"Well, I washed my hands, woman!" Theo grumbled.

"Nott! When did you get here, mate?" Blaise questioned, surprised but delighted by his friend's appearance. "I thought you were coming in next week!" Using his fingers, he unsuccessfully recounted the past few days.

"I've been here for at least three days, Blaise," Theo replied, tilting his head with his brows furrowed, trying to gauge whether or not his friend had finally lost it. "You were supposed to put down the wards but I was lucky enough to remember your motions. Why haven't you changed them, by the way?"

"Well obviously because I'd wake up if anyone came in," the snooty wizard countered, sniffing as he found a stray blonde hair from his shoulder. "Astoria Greengrass," he said as he held it up. "I didn't even sleep with her, still the bint managed to leave her trace all over me."

Theo stared at him worriedly for another second and then looked to Pansy for guidance. Pansy shook her head and pushed her pressing concern for Blaise's mental state to the back of her mind.

"Enough of you dolts! We can sort out Blaise's idiosyncrasies later! Right now we've got real work to do!" She urged Theo towards a chair and grabbed Blaise by the ear. Lord knew they'd be here until summer if the lethargic cat of a man were allowed to do things on his own time.

"Ow! That's the second time you've said we've got work to do, but you haven't told us what work we've got to do!" Blaise complained, rubbing the offended cartilage as he took a chair.

"Well, the thing is that," she paused, searching for the correct wording. "I can't really tell you what the work is about until you've guessed the first bit."

"Oh, well that sounds straightforward," Theo said sarcastically.

"Unfortunately, under pressing circumstances, I swore not to reveal this information. So you'll need to put your half-brains together and figure out what I'm trying to tell you. Or I'll have to resort to unethical tactics to put the thought in your head," Pansy threatened.

"Unethical as in?" Nott probed.

"Unforgivables of course! Probably just the Cruciatus because I don't want you dead and controlling you would be besides the point, yeah?" Pansy rationalized.

"Unforgivables! Gone around the twist, have you!?" Theo shouted, springing from his chair.

"Well, what else would I mean by unethical, Nott? A slap or a punch? I was raised better than that!"

"A punch doesn't sound that bad!" Theo retorted, shaking his head and pacing on the Persian rug.

"Next thing you know we'll be playing hide and seek like a load of Hufflepuffs," Blaise snorted. "Are you wearing yellow knickers under all that, Nott?"

Theo ignored the taunt and said, "You do know I was almost Crucio-ed to death in the war, right, Parkinson?"

"Well, I won't let you die!" Pansy cried, defending herself. "I've got more than enough practice!"

"Practice! What the hell do you mean you've got practice! Bloody hell, you weren't kidding when you said LeStrange 'taught you things,' were you?"

"Well, of course, I wasn't, Theodore! Who jokes about a bloody psychopath like Bellatrix?" Pansy asked incredulously. "Anyway, we're getting off topic here. Focus, boys! We've only got so much time before the ball and if our plan isn't in place by then we'll have to wait for the next one or orchestrate our own event which will take way to much time and we won't be able to use Malfoy's Galleons like we usua-"

"For the sake of Salazar, Parkinson, stop rambling and start talking! Give us a hint!"

"Can you give us hints?" Blaise asked, raising a thoughtful eyebrow.

"Well, she has to give us something! Are we just supposed to start blurting every word we know?"

"Just one hint," Pansy stated decisively, even though she wasn't sure how helpful this would be. "It's about Draco."

"Oh, you want to find his mate!" Blaise cried, cheerfully throwing his arms in the air in a most un-Slytherin-like manner. "Finally! I've been waiting years for someone to bring it up! I knew if I masterminded the plan Draco might Sectumsempra me open, but he's always been nicer to females, and considering you have a vagina, Pansy, you just barely fit into that category."

"How rude!" Pansy cried, crossing her arms unhappily. "And I suppose you know this because Draco told you?"

"Well, don't look so grumpy, darling," Zabini gloated. "I am his best friend."

"Oh, that's rich! And I suppose that's why he broke your jaw last year?"

"I broke his nose!" Blaise sputtered.

"It wasn't broken, just bloody, you delusional dear," Pansy said patronisingly. "After you left he sent a Patronus, asking me to come check it. Because I'm his best friend!"

"Well, at least I know who his mate is!"

Pansy's eyes bulged from her skull, her jaw slack and her ears steaming. "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" she roared, lurching up so quickly her chair fell backwards.

Blaise looked scared for his life, his spine straight against the chair and his fingers wrapped around the wand in his pocket. "Now listen here, Parkinson! You can't expect Draco Malfoy's best friend to be a former member of his fan group!"

"And what about you!?" Pansy shouted, sticking her finger in his face. "You were all over Draco when you had your 'I'm not bi, I'm just sexual' phase!"

"That wasn't a phase! It was a curse and you know it!" Blaise accused. "At least I didn't suck Ernie Macmillan's cock so that 'Drakey-poo' could have a seat in the front row during Charms! Not that you knew, but he only wanted to sit near Granger because-" Blaise blanched, realizing his mistake as understanding bloomed in Pansy's eyes.

"It's Granger!" she exclaimed, righting her chair and using it to climb onto the table to do a little jig, ignoring Blaise's commands to get down.

"That's ten thousand Galleons you're dancing on, Parkinson!"

"Blaise, you fool! I'm going to tell him when we see him next!" Pansy sang, hopping off.

"No, you won't!"

"Oh, yes I will," Pansy returned, settling back into her seat with an unctuous grin.

"You won't say a word if you know what's good for you, witch," Zabini threatened.

"Now, now, Zabini, baring your teeth at me like a dog won't do you any good now. You've already broken Draco's trust and what sort of a best friend would I be if I didn't tell him about such an arrant betrayal!"

"Parkinson, if you want to live to see tomorrow you won't open that fat trap of yours-"

"The only thing fat about me is my arse, Zabini. And if I do remember correctly you loved my arse more than any one else's. I specifically recall one time when you wrote a sonnet to my bum in fourth year after I-"

"Yes, yes," Blaise cut her off nervously, recognizing the lost battle. Pansy's smirk grew even wider as she settled into her seat assuredly.

"Never mind all that!" Pansy said, deciding to use that little tidbit at a later time. "What's important is that we all know and now we can move forward-"

"What do you mean by 'his mate'?" Theo asked uncomfortably, his gaze shifting between his two friends.

Blaise and Pansy looked at each and groaned simultaneously.

After Pansy had left his office, Draco loitered, thinking back to his Hogwarts years. It had been so easy being in such close proximity to her. Now he had to stage run-ins or wait for Ministry events to see her. First year he wasn't too mean, choosing to observe the Muggle-born conundrum from afar rather than speak to her. Second year was terrible, him calling her a Mudblood in front of a crowd. He'd seen the anger in her eyes wither into something pathetic and uncourageous, a look that should have never introduced to her expressions. But he hadn't lashed out because she'd hit the nail on the head, it was because she clearly thought so lowly of him and he couldn't stand to see her defend Potty and His Weasel.

How he longed to shake young Draco and tell him to be true to his thoughts. But it wouldn't have been of any use – even young Draco knew the dangers of being honest and open, especially regarding his own belief of Muggle-borns. How he had twisted and turned in his bed that night, wishing that he had never called her the dirty word. Still, he could see the ghost of a tear in her eyes. He shook his head, clearing his morose thoughts and recalled the summer before fourth year. He'd warned the Golden Tri-diots away, wanting Hermione out of harm's way. The Weasel, of course, hadn't taken the tip for what it was and chose that moment to grow bollocks, advancing on him. Hermione, smart witch that she was, held the ginger idiot back, dismissing Draco with a quick "never mind," but giving him a look that showed she understood. If he didn't care whether they lived or died he wouldn't have bothered warning them away and Hermione understood that.

'Smart girl,' Veela said. 'She deserves a present for all the times she saved our behind by being brilliant.'

'And she deserves a punishment for not catching on to our affection,' Vey added, grinning from his perch in the cage. 'Perhaps a spanking or two will do the trick. I would love to see her bubbly arse turn red for us.'

'There's no in between with you, is there Vey?' Veela said angrily. 'Most wizards would be ecstatic with just a pink arse but you have to go further and wish pain on her!'

'There is a fine line between pleasure and pain,' Vey said wisely.

'Only sadistic psychopaths say that kind of thing!' Veela screeched, causing Draco to flinch. He was surprised by Veela's vehemence, only having seen the softer side of his magical lineage, and Vey's coolness, only having experienced the brutish side of the beast.

'What do you know about sex?' Vey sneered, the sound of cracking knuckles resounding within the walls of his mind. 'You're a virgin!'

'Listen here you evil demon, when you talk about my mate you call it making love and that's final!'

Vey howled in laughter.

'And just what are you laughing at you... you, you- you heathen!'

Vey's laughter grew noisier as he bent over at the waist holding his side and barely able to gasp in a breath, prompting Draco to tune out the crazy voices inside his head.

Merlin damn his great-great-grandfather for harming a bitter, old witch disguised as a young Muggle! The poor woman had only been trying to put out her fire for the night, probably fed up with ugly bastards, and Brutus Malfoy had to just cock it up and – not only turn her down – but throw a dozen Hexes and a few failed Unforgivable in her direction. Now Draco was stuck with a cursed beast in his head, capable of breaking its chains at the most inopportune of times. And as if being told by his parents that he was cursed to have a raging beast in his head for the rest of his life wasn't enough, they added a cherry to the ice cream by revealing to him that his family's 'pure blood' was not so pure after all because they were a family of blasted Veelas, the credit going to his earliest dated ancestor, Armand Malfoy, who pissed off a Veela by being faithful to his wife. Of course, the bastard had to ruin it for them all! How hard would it have been to sleep with a bloody Veela?

Draco sighed, massaging his temples before pulling himself up. He wasn't going to be doing any more work, so there was no point in just sitting around. He locked his office with a twitch of his wand and headed towards the lift.

Because his elevator was private, going down thirty-three floors only took a few seconds. He praised himself for putting one in. His time at the Ministry had given him a taste of how dreadful lifts could be with a large amount of chatty witches and wizards who grew abruptly silent in the presence of a Marked man. Of course, there was also the occasional ride where it was just him and a witch, which resulted more often than not with him deflecting a willing cunt, or him and an enthusiastic wizard, which meant he had to endure small talk. Either way, Draco was happy to avoid the pointless word exchanges, again commending himself for putting in a private lift and avoiding all the mess.

But luck was not on his side. In the lobby, waiting for him, was one of his least favorite employees, Marcus Flint.

"Draco Malfoy! How are you today? Heading out early, are we?" Flint grinned. "Being the boss must be nice."

"Good and yes," Draco replied shortly, wondering why the fool spoke to him as if they were old friends. Well, he supposed they were old friends, but not the type of old friends that really mattered. Flint was a good minion at Hogwarts, but Malfoys had a history of outgrowing their minions, as a right of way. So chatting with his former Quidditch teammate was not something Draco wanted to spend time doing.

"I'm doing okay, too, seeing as I work for the most profitable corporation in the wizarding world, eh? Thanks for that!"

"Just doing my job, Flint," Draco said pointedly, angling his body towards the entrance.

"Right, right," Flint trailed off. Draco saw the wizard catch on to his disinterest and rack his brains for a topic that was compelling. Well, good luck with that, Flint- "Have you heard the news?"

"What news?" Malfoy returned, irritated by his vagueness.

"The news about Hermione Granger and Oliver Wood!" Flint exclaimed, excited to see Draco's ears perk.

Vey narrowed his eyes, glaring at the large-toothed man before him while he made a mental checklist of the available weaponry in the room – lamp, coat rack, candle holder, vase, pro- Draco cut him off: "No, I haven't."

"It's crazy! Apparently, they've been going around behind Weasley's back-"

"I thought Weasley was with that Lilac girl," Draco said, attempting to recall any tabloid covers he might've subconsciously seen on Diagon Alley.

"No, Lavender and Weasley broke up a few weeks ago and everyone thought that Granger and Weasley were back together, because that's what Weasley said-," His temples throbbed as his eyes went green, the ancient monster inside him fighting to take control and pummel the messenger of bad news. "-But I guess he was trying to force her into a corner-," Of course that was the Weasel's stupid plan, Draco thought, forcing a furious Vey into submission, "-because there are pictures of her snogging Wood in the Prophet-," Shock colored Draco's thoughts, before Veela's rage kicked in, hammering against the ridges of his brain. 'My mate snogging Oliver Wood! While I can't sleep because of the guilt, my mate is busy snogging Oliver fucking Wood!'. A darkness took over him, his face suddenly seeming more angular and imposing, the aristocracy of his heritage clear and the menace in his eyes blatant. "-and Hermione never struck me as the slag type. Then again, you never know with witches, do you? She could be having Potter on the side for all we know-"

"Stop," Draco ordered, ignoring the surprise on his informant's face. "Thanks for the chat, Flint."

"Your eyes are a bit green, boss.. Might want to to get that checked out," Marcus advised, crinkling his brow.

"Right," Draco said, spinning on the heel of his snakeskin loafers he stalked out the front doors. The freezing air and whipping wind had no effect on his person, neither did the shards of flying ice nor the crunchy snow melting in his shoes. Even a few Muggles gave him looks of concern before he fixed them with his malicious scowl.

How could this have happened? He knew it was an eventuality that Granger would find a man to settle down with, but the reality was insupportable. He tried to keep a hold of himself but his rage was too great, the adrenaline pumping through his veins at a phenomenal speed, building him up for a fight.

'Stupid, stupid girl,' Vey thought darkly. 'She never knows what's good for her.'

'She's managed thus far without us,' Veela thought grumpily, if only to contradict his nemesis.

'If she did, she wouldn't be on her knees for Oliver sodding Wood.'

'You don't know that she's on her knees! It was just a kiss...,' Veela defended. 'Right?'

'You would be so dense to think it was just a kiss, wouldn't you, you ninny?'

'I'm not a-'

Vey interrupted. 'Would we take just a kiss from her?' Veela shook his head. 'Then why on earth would that smarmy bastard Wood or any other man with half a brain take just a kiss from her?'

Finally understanding the situation, Veela threw his head back and screeched, the vibrations aggravating Draco's headache further and making him want to carve his own brain out. Vey joined in, howling and rattling the metal of his cage.

Draco tried to calm the distressed clowns, but he knew it was of no use. Vey was running rampant in his head, tearing up rational thought and plotting ways to get back at the stupid, stupid witch. It took everything in him to hold the monster at bay, thrashing and fighting against the chains he'd been locked into. It wasn't much, and if Hermione kept seeing other men it wouldn't hold, but for now, it worked. Draco swallowed back the impulse to knock Wood's door down and quarter the man, and instead focused on finding a solution.

It was obvious that neither Vey nor Veela would ever allow Hermione to become someone else's; Veela's furor was too great that he would end up causing permanent harm to any of her lovers and Vey's dominance would shine through in the form of kidnapping Hermione and taking her by force, the latter of which would not do. He'd try his damnest to pursue the obtuse woman before the two tore down the town and bled everyone dry, because – let there be no mistake – that's exactly where it was headed.

But taming the beast was too difficult when he felt the rage himself, when he himself wanted to hang Wood from his dungeon walls and strap Hermione to the flogging bench so that the Puddlemere United player could die as he watched Draco fuck his mate while she screamed that she'd never had it better.

Again fury clogged his thoughts as he thought of Granger and Wood entwined in a lover's embrace, whispering to each other after sex, and making eyes across the room. As he passed a general magical market, the cover of Witch Weekly caught his eye. Heat rose to his neck and he ground his teeth to the point of pain, jaw and fists clenched. There, splayed out across the cover, were his mate's lips, smashed against a very eager and soon-to-be maimed Oliver Wood. Another tabloid showed a closer shot, a bit of saliva hanging from their chins, a hint of their tongues pressed together. He had to look away, unable to bear the sight. Along the side were shots of the two laughing and holding hands, strolling without a damn care in the world. He pulled his lip back in a snarl as he imagined Granger laughing at a joke Wood made, leaning in to kiss him without a thought, grabbing his grubby paws like they belonged together! Veela cried out pathetically at every new image, amplifying Draco's own anguish.

It was too much to think about, and he couldn't spend a moment more dwelling on it. He could already hear Vey's oily voice persuading him to begin a little harmless research on the boy's whereabouts. He couldn't do that, since then he'd have a murder on his hands (and he was far too emotional to not leave any evidence behind), but he knew what he had to do now.

He was going to ensnare Hermione Granger, catch the pretty witch and trick her into falling in love with him. He would befriend her mind and slowly crawl into her heart, claiming all the free space and conquering all the rest, making her completely dependent on him. After he was through with her she'd be so dependent that she would look to him before deciding whether or not she should put more salt in her food! Aside from him, Oliver Wood would be the last man to ever know her pretty lips.

She had better be ready, because he was coming for her.

Soon.

After having a single Butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron, where a group of old Ravenclaws whispered about 'the Death Eater in the corner, there, you see right there,' Draco decided he needed a proper drink. Obviously, he couldn't stay here, because the other patrons were growing more watchful of his presence, but he knew it was too early to head home and he was too moody to meet up with his friends, especially considering he had just yelled at one. He opted to visit one of his favorite hiding spots, The Willow's Whisper. It was an upscale bar, named for the Whomping Willow's distant relative which was planted near Beauxbatons. Much like their student body – and unlike the Whomping Willow –, the Whispering Willow was graceful and beautiful, providing shelter to those in need. It had opened towards the end of the Reconstruction Era, so it promoted a wide range of customers. And, as a bonus, because the menu was overpriced, there weren't many older, more prejudiced regulars, making it easier for him to blend in.

On this frozen evening there were only a few people willing to brave the blizzard outside for a drink at a pub. One of those brave people, as any Muggle might guess, was Harry Potter. Where else would the renowned Scarhead be on a wintery night, but in an empty pub, brooding at the end of the bar in his trademark 'woe is me' manner?

Draco supposed that if he were to truly attempt pursuing his mate, making friends with the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die would make it that much easier. He took a step towards the Gryffindor, hoping that it was also a step in the right direction.

However, as the blond headed for the bar, so focused in his righteous quest was he that a dark wizard with a vicious eye, seated in the far corner of the establishment, escaped his notice.

It was all the better for the dark wizard.

"Potter," Draco acknowledged, sitting a stool away from the Golden Boy himself.

Harry's head shot up, meeting the eyes of his former foe. Just from that movement it was obvious to Draco that Harry was beyond drunk, so the light shining in those supposedly "almond" eyes made sense – Harry Potter was itching for a fight.

"Malfoy," he spat, catching the eye of the bartender and pointing down to his empty glass. The young bartender looked reluctant to refill the glass, but knew better than to turn down the Greatest Wizard of the century, so he poured another pint of Firewhiskey.

"I'll take the same," Draco requested politely, ignoring the widening eyes of the young wizard as he recognized the notorious ex-Death Eater. It must seem odd that the two were seated together, the protagonist looking far more disheveled than the antagonist. Well, I guess not, seeing as I am a Malfoy. But still. "So, Potter, I assume from the looks of things life hasn't been treating you too well."

"Yeah, what's it to you, Malfoy?" Harry asked indignantly, slurping down a third of his drink.

"Just making conversation," Draco replied, shortly. He didn't want to come across as some sappy fool, citing how he only wanted to help and whatnot. The Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't trust such an obvious sentiment; he needed proof of good will.

After a long pause and brief hesitation, Harry said, "Ginny and I had a row."

"Women," Draco sighed, gulping down some Firewhiskey. Really, he shouldn't be drinking anymore, lest Vey and Veela decided to attempt a coup, but there wasn't much else to numb the pain. He'd tried bedding random witches, but the embarrassing truth was that he was no longer able to engage in that particular activity successfully, so he drank.

"Right?" Harry asked, his ire melting as he looked up at Draco. "What is wrong with them?"

"A lot," Draco answered, smirking. "But they're worth it in the end."

"Ya think?" Harry wondered, dropping his head into his hands. "I just don't know how to fix this one. Or if I should even be bothered to fix it."

"Of course you should, unless she cheated. Then dump the Weaselette and find a real woman," Draco joked. But Harry didn't laugh; instead, he grew silent, his shoulders slumping lower. "My god, did the Weaselette cheat on you?"

"Don't call her that," Harry replied weakly, giving the answer away.

Shocked and a bit in awe of the Weaselette, Draco wasn't sure how to comfort the heartbroken Gryffindor. He only knew the Slytherin way, so instead of saying "I'm sorry man," or "You deserve better," Draco said, "Let's get drunk, Potter. I figure it's long overdue anyway." Harry's pleading look was all Draco needed to swallow the rest of his firewhiskey, throw down a hundred-Galleon note. Yanking Potter from his seat he made their way to the Apparition point.

"Where are you taking me? You know that you won't get away with any funny business! I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, the most important third of the Golden Trio-"

"Maybe the second most important third, Potter. Would you have made it to second year without the Muggle-Born?" Draco asked.

Bristling at the insult, Harry shoved the blonde away and corrected: "Her name is Hermione Granger, and I'd appreciate it if you called her that!"

"Yes, I know," Draco said, outwardly remorseful but inwardly cheering for his performance. Now, Potter would have no reason to think he was befriending him with an agenda. "I'll make sure to call her that from now on. Now will you shut that half-blood trap of yours so I can Apparate us to a more appropriate place for sulking?" Draco asked, choosing not to ignore the worried looks of the people who had been happily enjoying their drinks moments earlier. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt him!" he called to them. They looked unconvinced.

"Still on with the blood prejudices, eh? You're a fool, you are, Malfoy. You know the war is over-"

"I'm only pulling your leg, Potter. Now, please, if you don't mind, shut up!"

Harry obliged the Slytherin and off they went, twisting and turn, nausea rolling in their guts as they bent space to transport themselves to... Malfoy Manor?

"Malfoy, am I dreaming or did you just Apparate me to the Manor... as in YOUR manor?" Harry asked, turning back to see the tall foreboding gates that once gave him nightmares.

"As if there's need for clarification that it's my manor," Draco snorted." But yes, I'm afraid we are at my manor, dear Potter. Is that a problem?" Draco asked, strolling away from the gates and down the stone pathway, drunk wizard in tow.

"No," Harry replied uncertainly, glancing around, sobriety inching in on him. "But why are we here?"

"To get drunk of course," Draco stated simply, dragging the reluctant brunette through the front door. "I'm not looking to spend another hundred Galleons on cheap Firewhiskey when I've got my own arsenal of liquor."

"When did you get so smart, Malfoy?"

Draco just smirked.

"A-a-and it doesn't make any sense! I mean how- why- what- why would she just risk it all for one fucking night with Zabini," Harry spat. "Dirty Slytherin swine that he is, I suppose he was a good lay." Draco didn't bother confirming his suspicions. Harry shook his head dejectedly. Realizing his slip-up, he glanced at his host and added: "Sorry, but you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean," Draco admitted. Unchecked images of Wood and his mate flew through his mind for the millionth time that night. He clenched his jaw, reining back a bellow of rage. "But, it's better to grow out of the immature slights before you see the Weaselette again." And he would try to do the same with Granger, though he wasn't sure how well he would fare with a bitter Vey and a vexed Veela in tow.

"Don't call me immature!" Harry glared; Draco quirked an eyebrow. "It's fl-funny, but when you call her Weeeeez-let I don't really care anymore! I mean what is that? How could it all have changed so fast?" Harry cried, falling to his knees and throwing his arms up. "I thought she'd be the mother of my children, but- but now I can't see it! Now, even if we stay together, I'll always wonder about what she was thinking that night and how she could forget me! I'll always think that I'm not enough for her! I guess I never really was, seeing as she was the one with about a hundred boyfriends at Hogw-"

"Potter, I understand that you're upset, but don't be stupid. She chose to step out on you and it isn't any fault of yours. Tomorrow, we're going to work out what you want to say to Ginny and you can go from there. What's the point of lamenting over what could have been had she not decided to step out on you? What's happened has happened and there's no use wondering how it could've been because it can't be."

"Well, excuse me, Malfoy, for having a bleeding heart!"

"Having a heart is just an excuse for these pathetic water works."

"I'm not even crying!" Draco eyed him, as if to say 'it's enough that you're thinking about crying'. "And it's not my choice to have a heart, Malfoy! Merlin! How do you get so many women with that icy attitude!?"

"For your information, Potter, the rags have greatly overestimated my ability to bed witches. Though my fortune of good looks, brains, and wealth, gifted to me by my Malfoy heritage-," Harry rolled his eyes, "-garners quite a bit of initial interest, I usually fuck it all up by either, a, pining after someone I can't have or, b, saying something remarkably offensive because I have a low tolerance for asininity."

"Who are you pining after, Malfoy?" Harry asked, sitting up a bit. "Who's the lucky witch, or should I say, unlucky witch?"

"Perhaps comedy is not in your future," Draco deflected. "Though your friend Weasel could make it as a jester."

"You're probably right," Harry agreed, thinking back to the time Ron had managed to break every dish in the Burrow's kitchen while attempting to make a simple casserole. Charlie had walked in on his younger brother huffing at the burnt pan in the oven, whilst wearing a mangled pot atop his head. The real wonder was why Ron had flour on his face, because the recipe hadn't called for it. When asked he replied, he thought it would add some flavor. "He's basically doing that already, what with him helping George run the joke shop."

"Huh," Draco snorted in surprise. "Anyway, allow me to let you in on a little secret: a baby Weasley is the stuff of nightmares. Can you imagine? Newborns are already disgusting enough, wrinkly goblin-looking little buggers... But common freckles and coarse red hair to top it all of? My god, man! Why would you hope for such a terrible thing?" Veela yelped in disgust at Draco's mean words, and even Vey grumbled obscenities under his breath. Both, of course, wanted to see their mate round with child as soon as possible, meaning yesterday.

"The red hair isn't so bad," Harry said forlornly, "or the freckles."

Draco shook his head and took another sip of brandy. "Just know, that you'll do the world a huge favor by ending it. Your children will be celebrities, like you! And if you reproduce with the Weasel's sister, the standard of beauty will drop significantly. Any old Longbottom off the street could become a model! The horror!"

"Longbottom's not so bad," Harry reasoned, finally lifting himself off the floor and snuggling into the couch, even going so far as the nuzzle a pillow, to Draco's revulsion. He needed to remember to throw that one out. "You're not so bad, Malfoy."

"Why thank you, Potter," Draco replied sardonically, gulping down more brandy hastily. It was one thing to gain Potter's favor to make it easier to snag his mate, but it was entirely another thing to gain Potter's favor because he enjoyed the company of the Scarhead. It was time to get to bed before he went soft like Parkinson.

"Nooo problem," Harry sighed, turning to his stomach and setting his head in the crook of his arms. "I don't suppose you'll let me spend the night? I believe I've drunk far too much to transport myself," Harry said facing the couch, his muffled voice drawing a hearty laugh from Draco.

"The room is yours, Potter. There's also a guest suite down the stairs - fifth door on the right -, if you decide you'd rather sleep in a bedroom rather than my study." Harry grunted noncommittally, settling himself further. "Right. Just snap your fingers if you need anything. Good night, Potter."

"Why would I snap my fingers- Oh right, House-Elf. Forgot that you're a filthy pureblood for a minute there," Harry mumbled into the sofa. "Hermione will have it out for you when she hears about it, you know."

A smile tugged at the blonde's mouth as he pictured the scene. An irate Hermione Granger would raise her voice and grow heated as Draco refused to dismiss his House-Elves. Her face would flush and her chest would heave, giving just enough friction for her little nipples so that they would harden, poking against her shirt and shifting the mood of the argument entirely. He would take a heavy step towards her, licking his lips as he imagined the sweet, pebbled tips under his tongue and between his teeth... "I look forward to it." Finishing off the last of his brandy, he placed the glass on the side table and stood, making his way towards the closed entrance. With a wave of his wand, the heavy doors flew open and he continued out.

"Oi!" Harry cried, hearing the retreating footsteps. Draco peeked his head back in to see the Scarhead hanging off the furniture, waving his arm frantically.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, Draco. I r-really needed this," Harry hiccupped. Before Draco could reply, the drunken wizard was out like a giant, snoring to himself and muttering about truthful Nargles and lying fire-crotches.

"Anytime, Harry," the Slytherin prince said to himself. And it was better that way; he didn't need the righteous Gryffindor scuffing up the leather with his dirty shoes every night.

* * *

Reviews give me the same amount of pleasure that orgasms do. Okay, that's a lie, but still, review. That's an order.


	3. Chapter Three

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **In Which Draco gets an important invitation & Mister Potter cuts his losses**

Harry woke to the oddest impression that he was being watched. Too tired to truly wake up, he ignored the feeling, choosing to enjoy the luxuries of his soft bed instead. Rolling to find a cool spot, he-

THUD!

"What the hell!" he muttered, prying his eyes open and encountering hardwood. "Where am I?" Gentle titters caught his ear. His head flew in the direction of the noise, before he realized that he was hungover as all hell and quick movements were not a good idea. He slowly lifted himself onto the bed, which, he now realized was an ebony and leather settle. He held still for a moment and then scanned the room for the source of the giggles at a more appropriate speed.

There, across the room, infront of a wide bay window, sat a gigantic marble desk, behind which he saw the tips of elvish ears.

"You, there, behind the desk," Harry called gently, hoping he wouldn't scare them away. An old house-elf revealed himself, walking forward confidently with a duster in hand while casting a stern eye at the younger, still-tittering house-elf, that hid partially behind the monstrous workspace.

"How may I assist you, sire?" the elder house-elf inquired poshly, bowing and tilting his head.

"Could you tell me where we are?" Harry asked abashed. He hoped that he hadn't returned Ginny's favor by shagging some random witch, but he couldn't remember last night, was in an unknown location, and had no clothes on, so the facts pointed towards it.

"Sire, you are currently in the Master's study," the house-elf replied with quite a bit of judgement in his eyes. _Oh, great, another Kreacher,_ Harry thought.

"Who is your Master?"

The house-elf looked affronted. "I apologize, sire, but I am not at liberty to take the name of my Ma-"

"Cirrus, I thought I told you to stop calling me that behind my back!" a familiar voice boomed. In came a tall man with wide shoulders and platinum bl- _Wait, is that-_

"Malfoy!" Harry blurted, surprise clearly etched across his face.

"How are you doing this sunny afternoon, Potter?" Draco inquired."I thought to wake you earlier, but decided to let your sorry arse slee-" When he finally turned towards the naked man in his study, Draco shouted in surprise. "By god, Potter, put on some clothes!"

"Well, don't stare!" Harry shouted. "What did you do with them?" Harry paused. "And what on earth am I doing in your manor?"

Draco's face fell a bit, before he realized the opportunity for mischief he had been granted. "You don't remember last night at all?"

"No," Harry said decisively, wondering what they had done to put such a bright smile on Draco Malfoy's face. _Did I... no- no it's not possible! But still. I always suspected that Draco didn't play for the same Quidditch team. He's too well dressed and his hair is always done..._

Draco saw the dread form in Harry's eye and immediately knew what he was thinking. _Ha! As if I would let the Boy-Who-Cried sleep with me!_ Draco decided to milk the opportunity, dramatically starting, "Well, Harry Potter, last night you and I-"

"Listen, Draco, if something-," Harry sat up, searching for the right word, "-if something _intimate_ happened between us last night, I need you to know, that it was only because things recently went south between Ginny and I. Nothing more will come of this and your silence on the matter will be respected. And expected. I hope you can understand." Draco, true to his house, chose to deceive Harry further, rather than clarify the situation, like a stupid Hufflepuff or a righteous Gryffindor.

"But, Harry," he started, "you told me you'd never regret it. You said you would never forget me, that you would never leave behind the comfort we found toge-"

"That's enough!" Harry shouted, springing from his perch on the couch, flaccid cock flapping uncontrollaly. Draco could barely hold his façade, a guffaw insistently climbing up his throat at the disgust and concern on Potter's face. "Please, if you've got any appreciation for what I did in the war, please, Merlin, please, _please_ don't _ever_ speak of last night again!"

"I can't believe this!" Draco bellowed. "I can't believe you! Are you telling me that the Boy-Who-Saved-Us-All has developed a house prejudice? Are you ashamed that last night, I got you drunk and dragged you back to my manor so-," Harry's hands were poised over his ears, "-we could get even more drunk and talk about undeserving witches? I will not keep it to myself, Harry Potter! I will shout it from the rooftops of my Manor! Not that anyone will hear it, because there aren't any estates nearby, or buildings of any sort, really-"

Realization dawned on Potter's face. "Malfoy! Are you having a laugh?"

"Why, yes I am, Potter!" Draco admitted, smiling at Harry's palpable relief. He arrogantly continued: "Do you really think, that if I made the switch to wizards, I would sleep with a Gryffindor? You lot couldn't understand passion if it poked you in the eye!"

' _Lies_ ,' Vey whispered.

' _Complete and utter_ ,' Veela confirmed cheekily.

 _Hermione's an exception! Do you really think Weasel knows how to fuck?_

' _Forgot about him_ ,' Veela admitted.

' _Well, he's a forgettable person_ ,' Vey said sincerely.

For the first time since their appearance, Draco smiled at his beasts.

"You think this is funny? I thought we shagged! Wouldn't you be disturbed!?"

"Of course! For you to believe, to even _think_ , that you could land a wizard like _me,_ is inconceivable!"

"Oh, have it your way, Malfoy. I'm not concerned with _who_ I would sleep with _if_ I switched Quidditch teams, because I _haven't_. However, _if_ I did, then I could certainly 'land' you because I'm the bloody Chosen One and I would have you looney for me faster than your prejudiced arse could say Half-Blood!"

"You've really gone mad, Potter, if you think that I would let you have a go at me! If anything, I would be with Nott, or even that wanker, Blaise, before I chose _you_!"

"Blaise is a dolt! And if you think that he's more attractive or deserving than I am, I'm not sure you've got a brain, Malfoy!"

"I'll have you know that Malfoy Holdings has been commended for its exponential growth this past quarter, especially with the introduction of Drahcomn Wizard Technologies, which is more than you can say for yourself, Potter! You work for the Ministry, a boring job if you ask me-"

"Well, no one asked you, Malfoy! And being an Auror is a great deal more interesting than being a bloody businessman! Who wants to _sit back_ in an office all day, when you could be out, dueling wizards? Oh, right, the boy who _**sat back**_ while my best friend was having Mudblood _Crucio_ -ed into her arm!" Harry shouted, panting and wondering where on Godric's green earth that outburst had come from.

Draco's head dropped, his shame apparent in the slouch of his shoulders.

 _He'll never let it go_ , Draco thought. _I'll never redeem myself. If the magnanimous Scarhead can't forgive me, then how will the intractable Hermione Granger? I'm destined for this punishment, to be without a new mate, of any kind, for the rest of my pathetic life._

' _Don't say that!_ 'Veela wailed, shaking its head.

' _Well, it's true_ ,'Vey grumbled _._ ' _What else did you think was going to happen? You were weak in the war and you are weak now._ '

 _That's not true! At least I've decided to go after her, whether or not I succeed_ ,Draco defended indignantly.

' _It_ _ **is**_ _true_!'Vey argued.' _You do not have the courage to confront our mate because you are ashamed of your misdeeds! Again and again, Veela and I have advised that you fall to your knees before her and beg for her forgiveness, yet you still mourn her loss without even trying! Now, she is in the arms of another_ ,' Vey broke off to growl while Veela keened in the background, ' _and it will be even more difficult to gain her favor! Pathetic fool. I would spit on you if I could!_ '

Draco waited for Veela to oppose him, but the winged beast remained silent. The combined disapproval placed a bitter filter over his thoughts.

Realizing he had gone too far, Harrysaid, "Draco, I didn't mean to say all of that."

"No, no, Potter. It is completely understandable that you still harbor ill feelings towards me for what happened during the war, especially concerning _Granger_."

"We all did things we shouldn't have, Draco. Luckily, for you, it was your lack of action, which, in my opinion, is a great deal better than actually _doing_ something terrible. Like that mad woman you used to call your aunt or the rest of the Death Eaters." _Such as your father_ , Harry thought.

"Lack of action _is_ worse, Harry, because I know I could have done something to help. Maybe I couldn't have successfully overpowered Bellatrix, but I should've attempted it or at least aided you in some other way," he pointed out. "I knew it was wrong, never believed a word Voldemort spouted. But, I was a scared, _pathetic_ little boy, who couldn't find his way. Now, I am set in those scared ways. Now, it's too late to cha-" Draco cut himself off, disturbed by his honesty.

"Draco, you _did_ aid us. You _lied to everyone_ and told them you weren't sure whether it was me or not. You knew well and good it was! We'd known each other six years." Draco nodded distractedly. "We all have things to regret, and it's healthy to be remorseful. If you weren't, I would be worried. But, don't be _too_ hard on yourself, and don't let those regrets color your life now," Harry advised. "I wish you had done more to help us. It would've been fantastic if you had figured out a way to stop that evil bitch, but, then both you _and_ Hermione would have ended up dead. I'm sure of it. Not even your _father_ could've helped a blood traitor," Harry joked. Another distracted nod. "Draco," Harry said firmly, catching the attention of the Marked man. "You did as much as you thought you could at the time."

There was a pause as Draco drank in his words, words he had heard for the first time. Sure, his friends had discussed their wrongdoings before and during the war, but none of them knew about the events that transpired in his drawing room that one evening. Harry's words gave him great relief, but they also caused grief.

' _Pathetic_ ,' Vey said snarkily. And Draco didn't disagree.

"I did as much as I thought I could at the time," Draco repeated, resigned.

There was a brief silence. The two simply looked, as if seeing the other for the first time.

"Now let's leave the heavy behind and have some lunch?" Draco suggested. "Breakfast for you, of course, the Boy-Who-Slept-In."

"Yes. Right," Harry agreed.

"Well, come on. We haven't got much time before the Weaselette goes looking for you, if she hasn't already."

Harry didn't reply, unwilling to think of the dreary topic. As Draco made his way across the room, Harry was hit with a sense of disbelief. He, Harry Potter, had spent the night at Malfoy Manor, after getting blindingly drunk with Draco Malfoy. What exactly had prompted that? "Draco, what exactly _did_ happen last night, if _you-know-what_ didn't?"

"Don't sound so dejected, Potter, or I might think you fancy me!"

"Oh, sod off, ferret!"

"Also, you might want to consider putting on some pants. Might give Cirrus a scare."

Harry looked down at his nakedness and groaned.

* * *

"So, you're telling me that I was drunk before you sat next to me at the bar?" Harry clarified, stabbing at his sausage and slicing it sloppily, immediately forking a large piece into his mouth.

"Yes," Draco answered, carefully cutting his cote de boeuf into even pieces as he watched Harry's table manners with a critical eye. "Merlin, watching you eat is almost as bad as watching the Weasel." Harry grunted, unconcerned, as he chewed and enjoyed the delightful flavors. "And, you were past drunk, Potter. I'd say half-past pissed."

"Fuck!" Harry cursed. "What on earth was I doing before that? I don't even remember going to Willow's!"

Draco laughed, clasping his hands together, as he leaned back in his chair. "Do you really want to know? Because I can send out a team to figure out," he offered, trying to remember why he'd fired his last investigator.

' _Because he wanted to fuck our witch_ ,' Vey reminded just as Veela exclaimed:

' _Because he was a creepy bastard!_ '

' _Remember how he said her name so fondly?_ ' Veela asked.

' _With that affectionate look in his eyes!_ ' Vey added.

' _And he even warned us off her once!_ ' Veela recalled.

' _Said we were too rough for a woman like her!_ ' Vey bristled, baring his teeth.

 _We probably are. Thanks for reminding me._

Vey and Veela were stunned to silence. They had only been treated as parasites by their host; to be thanked left them speechless.

Draco grinned. _Don't forget who's in charge, idiots._

"No," Harry groaned. "I'd rather be in the dark."

"If I may's, sire, I's don't think you'se'll need a team," the small house-elf from before squeaked from the windowsill.

"Lucius!" Cirrus scolded. "You are not permitted to-"

"It's quite alright, Cirrus," Draco said. "After all, he's named after my father for a reason."

"You named your house-elf after your father?" Harry asked incredulously, looking at Draco as if he'd sprouted wings and talons. He knew Draco had changed since the war. The two had occasionally worked together at the ministry, before the blonde had opened his own company. But, this was a side Harry had neither seen, nor expected.

"Well he's not _my_ house-elf, Potter. He's an employee, who falls under the category of family, more than anything... But, yes, I did," Draco answered with that trademark smirk. "I did it more to scorn dear Cirrus here, rather than my father. Since the fall of Voldemort, we've been attempting to convince the man to call us by our names, in the form of orders and pleas, but he resists! When Lucius was born, Cirrus honored me with the gift of naming him. I am a Slytherin, if nothing else, so I named him after good old Lucius, Sr." Harry couldn't help the cheesy grin that fought its way to his face, at the realization, that Malfoy wasn't nearly as tough as he thought he was. "Anyway, what were you saying, Lucius?"

"Well, sirs', I believes I's know where Mr. Potter was last night," Lucius said.

"How is that, Junior?" Draco inquired, patting the seat to his right. Lucius climbed onto it with a beaming smile, while Cirrus shook his head in disapproval.

"He's made the front page of the Prophet! And, Witch Weekly released a day's early, so they's wouldn't be the last to print's an article 'bout it."

"An article about what, Lucius?" Harry asked desperately, tugging at his hair.

"Here," Lucius said, snapping his fingers to produce a copy of each. He handed the Prophet to Harry and Witch Weekly to his master.

* * *

 _ **THE-BOY-WHO-COULDN'T-FIND-THE-LOO,**_ _ **by Rita Skeeter**_

 _In a shocking display of exhibitionism, the wizard once famous for slaying Voldemort has opted for a different sort of recognition. While outside the Hog's Head, amidst a crowd, Harry Potter relieved himself in the snow!_

 _There is much speculation as to why he would do such an awful, barbaric thing. Since his youth, Harry has been recognized as a hero in the papers, but with the media slowly moving their focus to more relevant witches and wizards, such as Marnincia Chuchins, the supremely talented witch responsible for the new Quidditch defense 'Narny's Pibblewurfen Loop,' and the WIC (Wizard In Charge) of Malfoy Holdings, the handsome and elusive Draco Malfoy, it is obvious that Harry is missing the spotlight and eager to reveal his true patronus to the wizarding world. Harry Potter is more than just a seeker; he is an_ _ **unstable**_ _,_ _ **attention**_ _seeker, a young boy still suffering the loss of his parents and the neglect of his relatives and alleged mentor, Albus Dumbledore, who is now deceased._

 _We spoke to witches and wizards present during the incident and asked their thoughts. While some believed that what they saw was no_ _ **big**_ _deal, others believed it was._

 _"Well, he's bloody Harry Potter. He can do what he wants, can't he?" said Abeforth Dumbledore, the former headmaster's brother._

 _Miriam Ervin, chairman of P.U.W. (Parents for Underage Wizards) said, "I think it's just ridiculous! Horrendous! How dare he do such a nasty thing? Children look up to him, you know! He should be tried by Wizengamot! "_

 _An inebriated young wizard, who wished to remain nameless, said: "I think it was brilliant or my name isn't James Tuckett!"_

 _Esmeralda Inalda, a regular at the pub, claimed, "Harry's the biggest man I've ever seen! He can floo me anytime. My address is-"_

 _For legal reasons we were not allowed to print her address, but it is clear that Harry's lady fans are not put out by his actions. Neither are we, Harry. However, we do hope that Mr. Potter addresses his issue with being out of the papers. If left to develop, we, at Witch Weekly, fear for what the_ _ **Golden**_ _Boy may do next!_

 _Please enjoy the pictures of the event below. Note that we have slowed the images down, so that our readers can receive maximum effect._

* * *

"I – c-can't breathe," Draco gasped. He clutched his left side, from the pain of laughing so excessively, The image of Harry bleeding Potter taking a piss in the snow, while clearly shouting, maybe even singing, something at the top of his lungs, was unbearably gut-busting. "Jealous of the handsome and elusive Draco Malfoy, are you?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry ordered, re-reading the Prophet article.

* * *

 _ **Potter's Peculiar Promenade,**_ _ **by Archibald Withers**_

 _Sighting the friendly Harry Potter about the town is not uncommon, but it is always a delight to chat with him. Last night, at Sally's Saloon, Perry Pogsgibton, Chief Editor, ran into our amicable war hero. After Potter sang a round of karoake described by customers as 'slightly dreadful,' the wizard hoisted himself atop a table and began performing an astonishing jig. We now understand it to be called 'the Chicken Dance,' which is a dance imitating hens and mallards, fashionable for Muggle children in the 1950's._

 _After de-mounting the table, Potter 'did the moonslide' to the restroom, another Muggle dance, made popular by the infamous, deceased child molestor, Michael Jackson._

 _Barkeeps expressed concerned at Potter's drinking, continuing even after he returned from the loo – which he was unable to locate earlier that evening at the Hog's Head –, and went so far as to label him a 'possible alcoholic.' We hope that our favorite war hero will re-evaluate his musical and life choices, after a good night's rest. Good luck, Harry. And, remember, if you can conquer Tom Riddle, you can conquer this._

* * *

Draco's cacchination echoed off the walls, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks after he read of the piece in the Prophet.

"I can't believe this," Harry groaned, taking the magazine and handing Draco the newspaper. "They think I'm an alcoholic!"

He barely finished reading the second article, before he started banging his head against the table, rattling the young house elf.

"You're scaring, Lucius, Potter," Draco accused, comforting Lucius with a pat on the head. "At least it's beneath the fold, eh?"

"I's supposes this isn't the time to let you know the Quibbler published an article, too?" Lucius inquired quietly.

"Nooo!" Harry wailed. "I can't handle anymore."

"I'll pick one up later today, then!" Draco said cheerfully. "For the time being, _we've_ got work to do."

"We?"

"Yes, we, Potter. You might not remember last night, because of your common blood, but Malfoys are superior beings. We only get pissed if we allow ourselves to. It has nothing to do with the amount of liquor ingested," Draco replied snootily.

"Malfoys are only superior in their ability to sneak onto the winning side, in just the nick of time," Harry retorted.

"And is that not a skill to be proud of? I never lose!"

"Except in Quidditch," Harry taunted. "You've never won against me!"

"That was at Hogwarts! Let's see how well you fare against me now, Potter, when I'm a fully grown man, and you're still the same height as you were in fourth year!"

"Height has nothing to do with it, Malfoy! It's all in the flying, and I'm a better flier than you!"

"I'll have you know I was riding brooms while you still thought you were a Muggle! I practically flew out of my mother's womb!"

"That's disgusting, and obviously means you have no talent, because, uh, was it you that got to be seeker your first year? No! I think it was me!"

"You daft chuffer! They only put you on the team because-"

"Because you threw Neville's Remembrall and I caught it like the talented prodigy that I am!"

"You're saying it was my fault!?" Draco cried, outraged at the thought. He remembered young Draco being furious over the ordeal, ranting to Crabbe and Goyle and plotting to get revenge.

"Yes," Harry affirmed smugly, drinking from his tea.

"Bollocks," Draco sighed, shaking his head. "Should've never thrown that damn thing."

"Well, that should teach you to be mean! What did you have against Neville anyway?"

"He's a Longbottom! What _don't_ I have against Neville?"

"You're not in the habit of making sense, are you, Malfoy?"

"It's a Slytherin thing."

* * *

"Draco's got a bird? A very large bird?" Theo guessed.

After Pansy had barged into Zabini's Estate, the two had spent hours trying to put the answer in Theo's head. Of course, those hours were heavily interspersed with alcohol and joints, which meant most of the time was spent on reminiscing, food runs, and speculating at the sexual habits of merepeople, with the occasional prank Floo. When they all awoke the next morning, to the realization that no progress had been made, they decided to switch tactics.

So here Theo sat, on the chaise, attempting to make words of his friends' charades. Their actions grew more frantic as time passed. Currently, Pancy was fluttering her eyelashes and flashing coy smiles while Blaise watched her with wide eyes. Then suddenly she would curl her hands and scrunch her nose as Blaise gestured something exploding from Pansy's back. They actions grew more ridiculous as they repeated them. Finally Theo shouted, "Well do something different! I have no idea what it is!"

Pansy huffed, about to tell him off, but just then Blaise bumped her shoulder, armed with an idea. The two whispered for a bit, their expressions growing enthusiastic, which shifted Theo's boredom to curiosity. They then set the stage by conjuring a large mattress on the ground. Pansy knelt down on the floor while levitating a table while Blaise lay on it, gripping the sides like a terrified feline.

The mattress only protected half the floor the table was under, so if Blaise accidentally fell in just the right way – which Theo thought was a definite possiblility for _Blaise_ –, then he might seriously injure himself. Before Theo could air his grievances about the safety aspect of this scheme, the play started. Pansy mimicked a catwalk by swaying her free arm as Blaise watched. Then, from nowehere, the bastard stood and took a large unnecessary stomp, arms flailing over some inivisible railing before him. _Funny,_ Theo thought, _he almost looks like-_

"Weasley! He's a Weasley!?" Theo yelled, excitedly, before realizing that his guess made absolutely no sense.

But Blaise started nodding wildly, pointing at Pansy with both hands. _Why did Weasley almost fall off his box at the World Cup?_ Theowondered, attempting to recall what it was. _Ah! There were leperchauns throwing gold, which a Weasley would certainly dive for!_ "He's a leperchaun?" he asked more unsurely. Blaise shook his head and started motioning for what came after. Still, Theo had no idea. Shaking his head, Blaise finally dropped his hand to his crotch, miming a wank.

The answer hit him like a bludger to the head.

"MALFOY'S A VEELA!" he screeched, jumping from the chaise and taking Pansy so much by surprise that she dropped her wand, and by effect, Blaise.

"DAMMIT PARKINSON!" Zabini shouted as his knees cracked against the floor. He howled and grabbed his knees as he rolled around on the floor pathetically.

"So sorry, it was an accident," Pansy apologized, primly, with a Slytherin smirk on her face. "But yes, Draco's a Veela, Theo! Good job, only took you half the century."

"How on _earth_ is he a Veela? I thought the Malfoys were Pure-blood! I am certain that the Malfoys are Pure-blood! Why else did they champion the noseless wonder's cause?"

"No, the only thing that we can be certain about when it comes to Malfoys is that they are exceptionally adept at being on the winning side," Pansy informed.

"You'll pay for this, Pansy," Zabini threatened, still moaning on the floor.

"Oh quit your whinging and get up! Now the _real_ work starts!"

"It's always about work with you," Blaise whined, unsteadily rising to his feet.

"So Granger is Draco's mate?" Theo clarified, still stumped by the new information.

"Yes," Pansy affirmed. "And we've got to get her interested. The idiot _insists_ that he can't have her, but I won't watch Draco die without even trying!"

"Die is a bit much, isn't it?" Blaise asked incredulously, unwilling to believe one of his closest mates _needed_ anything, least of all a witch. "It's not like he won't survive without her."

"True, but what is his quality of life without her? I'm guessing his Veela heritage kicked in towards the end of the war. It's only been five years, more or less, and see how gloomy he's already become," Theo pointed out. "Huh, it all makes sense now." He thought back to his confusion the first time Draco turned him and Blaise down for a night out. They had planned to go the Thoroughbred Thestral weeks prior. When Blaise and Theo had reached Malfoy Manor, they hadn't had time to leave the Floo before a surly and irate Draco told them they would be going out without him. Blaise, being Blaise, attempted to convince him to come along, but Draco had brushed him off with a few brusque words and left the two in his parlor, confused and a bit offended. That confusion had rapidly transformed into an unsaid expectation that, while Draco enjoyed going out with his friends, he would not be present if shagging was on the agenda.

"Exactly. And what's the point of living when you don't really want to?"

There was a deep moment of silence.

"What's the plan, then, Parkinson?" Theo asked.

"Well here's what I've been thinking..."

* * *

The mood of the library was dreary. Harry and Draco sat across from the window-walls on massive armchairs, watching through the glass as rose petals fluttered in wind and the birds, brave enough to face the cold, fed.

"So you've decided, then?" Draco asked. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes," Harry said with an air of finality. Draco thought it was mostly bravado.

"This is a big deal, Potter. You've spent years with the woman. All jokes about her being a Weaselette aside, this takes some serious thinking, not just a rash-"

"Malfoy, with all due respect, I know what I'm doing. If something like this had happened a few years ago I would have been devestated. She was all I could think of, all I could see, you know? But now... Now I see other witches, Malfoy, and I wonder about them. And it's obvious that she does, too. So, if it's meant to happen, it'll happen, but I think that we both need time to do our own things, date other people, and all that."

"That is surprisingly mature compared to the nonsense you were spewing last night," Draco said, surprised by the sound logic behind Harry's next move.

"You do know my friends and I destroyed all but two of the Horcruxes, right?" Harry asked rhetorically, crinkling his brows. "And one of those Horcruxes was me. So I literally died at the hands of Voldemort and then came back."

"My, my, your head has inflated since Hogwarts, Potter!" Malfoy laughed. "You mention your war stories every five minutes."

"Well they're amazing stories," Harry defended. " _And_ you continuously need to be knocked down a peg."

"You'll never be able to do it," Draco promised, smiling. "Now then, I need to get that Quibbler article if you're all sorted out. I can't wait to see what the honourable Miss Lovegood has written about you!"

"Why me?" Harry groaned, hiding his face. "It's not fair that I can't go out and get pissed without being called an alcoholic. The worst part is that they genuinely wished me luck! There'll be at least twenty flower deliveries and a howler from Mrs. Weasley when I get home. How many galleons do you want to put on it?"

"None thank you. I like to win," Draco deadpanned.

Harry groaned again, throwing himself from his chair. "I've got to get back to the flat before I lose my nerve."

"Right." Malfoy nodded stiffly, rising from his chair.

Harry walked towards the limestone fireplace, a grand fixture that could easily fit three St. Nicholas' in it, side by side. "You don't mind if I use your Floo, do you?"

"Of course not." Draco nodded towards the antique genie-lamp on the shelf beside the hearth.

"Thank you." Harry grabbed a handful of the green powder and stepped in. "I'll see you later!"

Draco didn't return the sentiment, his face stony as he watched the wizard disappear in a puff of smoke. He turned towards the window, spotting a few birds pecking at the frozen fountain. It felt like he was watching himself, nibbling at a loaf that would never feed him.

 _I was supposed to get an in with Hermione through Potter. Now he's left and there's no surety that he'll be back. I've failed._

 _'You_ _ **have**_ _failed,'_ Vey confirmed _. 'It's time to move onto my plan. We'll need hog ties, scotch ta-'_

 _'Over my dead body!'_ Veela shouted dramatically.

 _'That can be arranged,'_ Vey threatened, cracking his neck.

 _'You'd just kill both of us!'_

 _'It'd be worth it to not have to hear your voice again!'_

"Oh, shut up, you two!"

"Make it a point to talk to your books, Malfoy?" Harry said from behind him.

"Potter!" Draco jumped, turning to see the cheeky wizard watching him carefullly.

"Who were you telling to shup up?" Harry asked curiously.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," Draco said.

"Yeah? Try me."

"I'm afraid that's a story for another time, Potter. This is something I haven't told even my closest of friends."

"I haven't told my closest friends about Ginny yet. It's easier that way," Harry admitted.

"Yes, but this is a more serious issue. And I don't mean to sound snooty, but if this doesn't turn out, then I'll be alone, moping for someone who doesn't want me."

"Why would you cry over someone who didn't want you? Weren't you the one who just told me that there were plenty of gnomes in the garden?"

"Yes, but _I_ do not have the free will that you do," Draco hinted, almost pinching himself for talking too much.

Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to put the story together. "You have no choice in the matter?"

"No."

"Hmm," Harry hummed. "This isn't over, Malfoy. But, I have to be on my way because Ginny saw me just as I came back here and I'm sure she's wondering why I left so quickly. I forgot to invite you to the Burrow for dinner on Sunday."

"The Burrow? Have you gone mad? I thought you were going to cut it off with Ginny!"

"I am, but I've got a standing invitation to the Burrow. And Mrs. Weasley always says that any friend of mine is a friend of hers. We can put that to the test on Sunday. Besides, Ginny won't be there because she's got an away game. Port-keying to Hungary tomorrow."

"That makes more sense. But I don't know," Draco said uncertainly.

"Come on! There'll be people you know! Ron, George, Charlie-"

"You're just naming Weasleys! A family that I have made fun of since I was born!"

"Right." Harry thought for a moment. "Neville, Luna, Lavendar, Kingsley, a few other Ministry big wigs, unfortunately Cormac, Hermione, and oh yes Oliver!"

"Hermione and Oliver Wood? They're dating now, aren't they?" Draco asked lightly, tracing the pocketwatch in his trousers.

"Hermione and Oliver? God no!" Surprise colored the blonde's features.

"They seem to be, seeing as they were plastered across the rags, playing tonsil Quidditch, " Draco bit out. " _Before_ you decided you missed being on the front page, of course."

"Oh, that," Harry said vaguely. He had the funniest feeling that the Slytherin was fishing for information.

"Yes, that," Draco prompted. Harry obliged, if only to see where this was going.

"Well, Oliver's ex-girlfriend got pregnant by his best mate while they were dating. He's been forlorn, depressed and, honestly, just pathetic in general, so Hermione 'did him a favor.' But if you ask me, it wasn't a favor. All she's done is set him up for another letdown, because now he's sniffing around her. Can you believe that he actually asked me what her address was the other day?"

' _Vey, smash!_ ' Veela chuckled before he obliged, smashing a wooden crate into oblivion. ' _Do you think his head will crumple like that?_ ' Veela asked curiously _._

' _Less resistance_ ,'Vey replied,his ghastly whetted fangs flashing against his black fur like a knife in the night.

"I hope you didn't give it," Draco said delicately. "Granger stranger danger and all that."

"Like I was going to tell him! Wood might be a friend, but he's not the right guy for Hermione," Harry stated firmly, watching Draco's eyes. _What is this sneaky Slytherin up to?_ Harry wondered. "Anyway, what do you say about Sunday? It sort of turns into an all day thing. In fact, because Bill and Charlie will be there, we can probably get a game of Quidditch going."

"You know what, Potter? I think I will take you up on that," Draco announced, the machinery of his mind whirling a mile a minute.

"Nice!" Harry said. "I'll see you on Sunday, then?"

"Sunday it is, Potter. And, just a heads up, if I were you, I might find a few hours to practice within the next three day."

"Ooo, I'm so scared," Harry taunted. "Fortunately _all_ of the precedence is in my favor."

"Yes, but I'm playing to catch more than just the snitch," Draco remarked.

"We'll see," Harry said, opening the genie lamp again.

Right after he opened his fist Draco shouted, "And stop wasting my Floo powder, Potter!"

The ghost of Harry's laugh whispered through the library, putting a smile on the Slytherin's face.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Reviews mean faster updates. I have the next few chapters written out, but after those are posted there won't be much motivating me if I don't get to hear your thoughts, good or bad. I'm not a big fan of cliffhangers but I will utilize those if it gets you silent readers to talk. Don't be a Muggle, choose to review!**


	4. Chapter Four

**In Which Mr. Zabini ruins The Plan, Miss Parkinson makes an acquaintance, and Hermione goes to dinner**

* * *

 _Author's Note_

To the people who left reviews, you are the absolute best and the only reason that I write.

I apologize for the terribly late update. Some of you may have already read this chapter. I have made a few tweaks and there are a few added scenes, so take the time to skim through so that the next chapter doesn't confuse you.

Also, I would like to mention that I am looking for a beta with a lot of free time. So... if anyone's interested feel free to send a message.

* * *

Hermione Granger hurried to her office, nodding at the witches and wizards who greeted her along

the way. She smoothed her hair down, righting her skirt and quickening her pace as she glanced at the time. Her secretary, Alicia Spinnet, had sent her a messenger snitch, notifying her that there was a near hysterical Mr. Ollivander waiting for her on a Floo call. So to her office Hermione hurried, while she steeled her mind for the coming jibberpufferies, or shenanigans as her Muggle parents would say, of the old wandmaker.

"He's gone mad," Alicia warned as Hermione passed her desk.

"More than he normally is?" Hermione asked with a sly smile. "Maybe it's the Night Plimpies this time."

"Not dark enough," Alicia quipped. "I'm guessing it's about whatever the Quibbler is featuring this week. Looked like a hypogriff and a dragon had a zombie child. You really should talk to Luna about toning down the articles. You're the one who has to deal with the fall back."

Hermione smiled. "It would be of no use. Luna is as free of a spirit as a spirit can be. Did you know she gave me a cover for my fireplace? It's hideous! Sparkling pink with neon stars all over! She told me it would keep the Beherniaks away."

"What is a Beherniak?" Alicia asked curiously.

"Exactly."

"Maybe we'll figure out this Sunday," Alicia laughed. "Oh, and after this call I've blocked off the rest of the hour so you've got time to work on the Demiguise poaching."

Hermione nodded and entered the office, overlooking her neat décor and sighting the face of Mr. Garrick Ollivander, seeming dishevelled and tired, in her fireplace.

"Vine with a dragon heartstring core, ten and three-quarters inches. Miss Granger!" the wandmaker exclaimed, his hair more out of place than it usually was.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she greeted. "I hope you're in good health?"

"Blast my health, dearie! I've got terrible news! Chizpurfles have taken over my store!"

"Chizpurfles?"

"Chizpurfles!"

"Do you mean Chiz-PURR-fles?"

"Yes! Chiz-PER-fles."

"No, it's pronounces Chiz-PUR-fles, sir."

"I've got a different- I'm from a different part of the United Kingdom than you are! My accent affects pronunciation!"

"Right. So sorry to hear about the Chiz-PURR-fles. Have you made any steps towards eradicating them? I can give you a few spells or send a Ministry worker to perform them if you are indisposed-"

"I wouldn't call for a minor issue, Miss Granger!" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Excluding the last few calls, of course." Ollivander chuckled nervously. "This is an infestation of the most serious kind! They've chewed through hundreds of wands and I don't know how to get rid of them! I've tried all the usual spells but there are far too many!" he explained frantically.

Hermione blew out a breath. "Do you have any idea where they came from?" she asked worriedly. "Have any of the neighboring shops complained of them?" If they made their way down Diagon Alley, Ron would make an unwelcome presence outside her office in no time.

"None! They were here when I returned from my trip to the Black Forest to retrieve some wand-quality Beech wood, only to find my wands taken hostage by the bastards!"

"Oh my, I'll send a message to Percy Weasley immediately," she assured him, writing a quick note and fashioning it into an aircraft. _It would serve the snooty dunce right to have to deal with those nasty little buggers_ , she thought, crinkling her nose in distaste at the image of the tiny fanged beasts.

"What is _that_ _boy_ going to do about anything?" the old man asked incredulously. "I'm not sure he'll be able to help with this. It's nothing to do with the wand, just the wizard yielding it. I can recall the day he walked into my shoppe, nose turned up so high, even the wands could sense it. The only one kind enough to work for him was walnut with dragon heartstring core, six inches."

"Mr. Ollivander," Hermione started, biting her lip to hold in a laugh. "Percy Weasley is the Chair-Wizard of the Pest Advisory Board. He is the top person to help you with this."

"Fitting job for him, no?" the older man remarked.

"I like to think so," Hermione agreed, pursing her lips to hide her smile.

Ollivander muttered a curse. "Oh, he'll do. I suppose you don't have the time?"

"I'm never too busy for you, Mr. Ollivander, but I will have to wait until after work to come check on the situation. _If_ Mr. Weasley hasn't sorted it out by then, of course."

"I'm sure he won't have!" Ollivander deadpanned. "Alright, alright. Please, tell Mr. Weasley to be quick! It is already going to take _years_ to replenish my supply. Years!"

"Of course," Hermione promised. "He'll be there within a half-hour at the latest. In the meanwhile, perhaps I can help set up an apprenticeship with recently graduated students interested in wandlore?"

"That would be very kind of you, Miss Granger," he said, still distraught.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Ollivander, and don't worry, we'll have your supply reinstated within a few months, not years."

Mr. Ollivander nodded distractedly, clearly dubious of her words but unwilling to refute them.

She closed the Floo with a wave of her wand and relaxed back into her chair. As the Head for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she usually did not deal with pest issues, but there were certain people whom she preferred to deal with personally.

Now, that Hermione was constantly busy, she wasn't able to spend much face time with any one of her friends, so she usually kept up with everyone's lives' through Sunday gatherings at the Burrow. But still she felt out of the loop, like her life was wasting away on work. Work that was important, of course, but work that took over every square centimetre of her life.

She was really looking forward to this Sunday. Ginny would be out of the country, and though she was a close mate, it was nice to talk to Harry alone. He was her best friend, after all, and she needed his advice on a particularly thorny circumstance.

Oliver Wood had asked for her help with a delicate issue. His girlfriend, now former and pregnant, had cheated on him with one of his best mates who was also on the Puddlemere United team. The rags had gone mad about the story, giving Oliver no time to adjust to the changes. He chose to take his holiday in England rather than staying in Ireland like he usually did, just to get away from the ordeal.

She had immediately agreed to aid him in any way that she could. Though Harry had warned her that Wood was only using his public breakup as an excuse to pursue her, she had disagreed and accepted Oliver's request.

 _"You don't know what it's like, Hermione," he started. "I used to be in the newspaper for winning Quidditch matches and now? Now they ask me if I've given Victoria and Nathaniel my blessing! Apparently, because they're going to have a baby, it makes everything okay. She cheated on me for fucking months. I doubt that she was ever faithful, to be totally honest, but it's all completely acceptable in the face of a pregnancy! It makes no fucking sense!"_

 _"Of course I know what it's like. I've been the apple of Rita Skeeter's beady eyes since the Triwizard Tournament nonstop. I've been written about more times than you can count."_

 _"But you're the brightest witch of our age! They can say whatever they want in the news, but at the end of the day, everybody loves you. It's different for me, Hermione. I'm just a Quidditch player."_

It had taken her a day to weigh the pros and cons, but she had finally decided to aid Oliver. After all, it wasn't as if she wanted an extremely active love life. Maybe helping him would help fend off some unwanted attention.

 _"Fine. But no funny business or I'll make sure you're back on the reserve team."_

And Oliver had been a perfect gentleman, keeping their physical contact limited to handholding and light waist touches. It was Hermione that had bumbled it all up by snogging him. In her defense, the only reason she'd done it was because a particular buggy reporter – who would be receiving another visit soon – had badgered her into it, saying things like ' _Miss Granger, how many more Quidditch players will you entrap with your cunning?_ ' and ' _Miss Granger, how long do you think this poor boy will last_?'By the end of their day Hermione couldn't resist planting one on Oliver, just so that the rotten reporter – if you could even call her that – would actually have something to write about!

' _That beetle better get the message this time,_ ' the devil on her right shoulder whispered.

' _Giving her the time of day will just encourage her_ ,' the angel perched on her left shoulder reasoned.

 _Okay, this is starting to get weird_ , Hermione thought. _I've even named you two._

' _Too late_ ,' Mia snorted. ' _You've been weird all of your life. I mean, who chooses to study when she has access to some of the hottest wizards of the century?_ '

' _It's not all about sex, Mia_ ,'Onie retorted, smoothing down her lengthy white dress _._

' _Oh, I know you think that_ ,'Mia scoffed _._ ' _After all, you are the reason we're still a virgin._ '

 _The subject-verb agreement in that sentence was incorrect. The correct usage would be-_ Hermione was interrupted.

' _I know! Just because I don't have my nose in a book every waking moment of the day doesn't mean I'm daft!_ ' Mia defended.

' _Are you sure?_ 'Onie asked innocently.

' _Get back to the point already. You were whining about being admired by Oliver Wood, the bleeding captain of a professional Quidditch team_ ,' Mia snarled, whipping her tail.' _There is so much wrong with you._ '

 _Right._

Now, she was trapped between a Hyppogriff and a Chimera, because she was almost one hundred percent sure that Wood was dancing around a question that she was not yet prepared to answer. She had successfully avoided him for a week, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could delay him. He was growing antsy, showing up in places that she hadn't told him she'd be and asking Alicia when she had a free hour for lunch. It wouldn't be long before he followed in Ron's footsteps and simply told Witch Weekly that they were seeing each other without confirming it with her first!

' _I cannot even begin to comprehend why you would date that carrot top disaster when you could've been fucking Harry Potter!_ 'Mia shouted, stamping her stiletto encased foot, causing Hermione to flinch.

 _Ow, Mia!_

' _Harry was in love with Ginny and letting Ron down wasn't an option at the time. Remember how many symptoms of depression he was displaying?_ 'Onie reminded. ' _He was spiralling downwards and-_ '

' _I don't care!_ ' Mia pouted, leaning the trident against Hermione's neck and conjuring a bright green fruit between her hands.' _The nerve of the tomato nosed bastard! To tell the entire Wizarding World that we were together just so he could save face! Almost as bad as Wood-_ '

' _He's a far cry better than Ron! At least Wood had the courtesy to ask_ ,' Onie pointed out.

' _More attractive? Yes. Shaggable? Absolutely. Dating material? Forget it! We're not making the same mistake as we did bef-_ '

A knock at the door startled her. Hermione looked up to see a burly, curly-haired blonde, leaning against the doorway.

' _Look at that delicious piece of meat_ ,' Mia murmured, wiping the apple against her vest before biting into it and letting the juice slide down her pouty lips. ' _Do you think he'll lick me clean?'_

 _'You're disgusting. He's completely inappropriate! How can you be attracted to such obscenity?_ ' Onie asked in disbelief.

' _How can you not be?_ ' Mia retorted, settling down on Hermione's shoulder and crossing her legs like a proper demon.

"Interested in making some magic together? Because my wand's at the ready, dar-"

"Cormac," Hermione cut him off, glaring at his wolfish grin. "Is there something you needed?"

"Just your lips, sweetheart," he flirted, plopping down on the chair across from her. Mia puckered up as Onie gagged.

"Shut the door on your way out," Hermione replied evenly.

"I already did, just in case you decide to finally show me your knickers," Cormac said, his eyes lighting up as her eyes narrowed impossibly further.

"Get out of my office," she ordered, turning back to her work.

"You know I love it when you get strict with me, Professor Granger. However, I'm afraid, my sweet, that I am here on business."

"If it was important enough, your department head would have come straight to me," Hermione said firmly. "Leave. Now."

Finally taking note of her genuine ire, Cormac spoke quickly and frankly. "There's been a sudden wave of Golden Snidget usage in Wiltshire."

Hermione's icy demeanor melted into disbelief. "Merlin! They're using real Snidgets? Has the world gone mad? They're on the endangered list already! We'll need to get someone on this immediately!"

"Yes," Cormac agreed. "But there's a slight problem."

"Which is?"

"The Snidgets are being used by younger wizards, aged from nine to eleven years, pre-Hogwarts."

"Where are they even getting them from? Are they not being supervised? This speaks on the parenting, really. To use an endangered animal for a silly sports game!"

Cormac grinned at the witch's belligerence. "We don't have any sure answers yet, but there is some speculation. We've got Patty from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement making calls already."

"What are the speculations and what steps is she taking towards the issue?" Hermione queried, her quick quill poised over fresh parchment, ready to write.

"She's spoken with wizarding families from the area and gathered a bit of intel. So far, what we know is that the parents are completely unaware."

"That seems unlikely, because only an older witch or wizard could acquire a Snidget. They're far too agile for a mere child to capture."

"I could've managed it at seven," Cormac remarked, puffing his chest.

"No, you couldn't."

"Why don't you take a ride on my broom and see for yourself," he suggested, raising his eyebrow provocatively.

"Why don't you leave my office before I hex you? I can see that you will be of no further help."

"I'll stop while I'm ahead, as the Muggles say." Cormac rose from his chair, and called back to her once more before he exited, "Did you cast a stupefy? Because you are stunning, Hermione."

"That didn't even make sense, Mclaggen!" Hermione cried after him.

* * *

Draco didn't bother knocking as he entered the mangy, black home of Geoffrey Willard, blowing the door to chunks and splinters with a jerk of his wand. "Willard!" he bellowed, storming down the unlit hallway and into the muddy drawing room to find the wizard in question stuffing a magazine into the cracks of his armchair.

"Draco," he said weakly, shooting to his feet and clasping his hands.

"What did I tell you about Pansy?" Draco advanced on the pathetic man until he was seated once more, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"W-w-what do you mean?" Geoffrey stuttered unconvincingly.

"Answer me, Willard, before I make your pathetic life more of a joke than it already is," Draco threatened, an evil smile twisting on his face. Back when Hermione chose to keep her tongue in her own mouth – _good times_ – and he had been able to maintain the delusional idea that he could live without her, the instances in which he could exercise his influence, like this one, had been the only thing to make him feel alive.

"I didn't mean any of it! I was just mad! She cheated on me a-"

"And why wouldn't she, Willard?"

"Well-" Geoffrey paused, trying to find a reason.

"Can't even find a reason to defend yourself? You're a pitiful excuse for a wizard. Might as well be a Muggle," Draco spat, sneering at the tremble that racked Willard's body and completely unaware that Vey's fangs had lowered as a menacing warning.

"Please, don't kill me! I didn't mean to-"

Draco narrowed his eyes, bristling at the unveiled insult. "You think I'd waste one of my _Avada_ 's on a fool like you?" he asked incredulously. Willard began to stutter, but Draco continued. "No. No, I'd rather give _**Avery Couvisi**_ a call."

"No!" Willard cried, shaking his head frantically. "No, please, Draco, please, spare me."

Draco chuckled. "Now, why would I do that, Willard, when you can't follow simple directions? I think you need a punishment, a proper lesson as to why you should _always_ heed your _**superiors**_."

' _He's back!'_ Veela cried as Vey cheered their host on with glee.

* * *

Hermione was currently in a meeting for her latest legislation concerning werewolfves. Though the number of werewolf attacks had decreased significantly since the war, it was still a large number. Her proposal outlined the benefits of required Ministry-administered Wolfsbane potion to all werewolves. The bitten person would simply register with the Ministry and the werewolves would either pick-up their potions or opt to have them delivered.

Her meeting with the St. Mungo's Chief Potioneer, Hemmington Reece, was going as well as she had expected. Hemmington was a particularly condescending individual and loved to be as uncooperative as possible where Hermione was concerned.

"How many employees will you need to brew three thousand Wolfsbane potions?" Hermione asked seriously.

"Well, I don't know, Hermione, what do you think?" Hemmington countered rudely, pursing her lips.

' _She looks like a cow_ ,' Mia said meanly, flashing her pretty figure.

' _Her appearance isn't what matters_ ,' Onie said. ' _It's about what's on the inside._ '

' _And what do you think is inside that fat cow? It's not like she's nice._ '

' _She is hostile at times_ ,' Onie admitted. ' _There must be a lot going on in her life._ '

' _Or nothing at all, which is why she creates drama. I would know, I am a demon, after all. And I can promise you that this cow is just picking a fight with us because she knows she can. Hermione, here, has been the nice little girl for so long that people are starting to take advantage of her. I hate it._ '

Hermione gritted her teeth and flared her nostrils, before she took a deep breath.

"I don't know, Hemmington, which is why I asked _you_. You _are_ the head of the Potions Ward, correct?"

"Correct," Hemmington affirmed, turning her nose up.

"So, how many witches and wizards will you need to brew Wolfsbane potion for three thousand werewolves?" Hermione asked again.

"Not sure," Hemmington answered indifferently. "Will we be here much longer?"

"That depends on whether or not you will you answer my question. It's the last one."

"No, I don't think I will. I've got a nail appointment," Hemmington said, standing from her chair and heading for the door. "Owl me if you've got further questio-"

Hermione flew out of her chair and pointed her wand towards the door, slamming and spelling it shut. Hemmington froze, turning to look at the woman poised to curse her.

"I have had it with you!" Hermione screeched. "Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that?"

"I- I-"

"I know what you think," Hermione snarled. "There isn't anything happening in that brain of yours that I don't understand. You think that I'll keep on taking your ill treatment, that I won't speak up against you." Hemmington shook her head dishwater curls bouncing around. "Let me make one thing extremely clear to you, Miss Reece, if I decide to let Kingsley, my close and personal friend, know how ill I've been treated by you, you won't have a job tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered out.

"Good. And one more thing, learn to be pleasant!"

"Y-yes, Hermione," she agreed, bowing her head slightly.

Hermione's panting slowed, finally realizing what she had done.

' _Don't go soft, now! You'll look weak and she'll take it out on another potioneer or a patient!_ ' Mia urged.

"M-may I l-leave, ma'am?" Hemmington asked.

"The answer to my question, first," Hermione ordered.

"Of course, ma'am."

* * *

It had been a few hours since Pansy had left the Zabini Estate. Since then, she had been wandering around aimlessly. First, she went to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer and some garlic chips. Deciding that she needed some new clothes, she then went to Gringotts to extract some gold. Usually she would just charge her items to 'the Malfoy account,' because the Malfoys had an account everywhere, but, a few years ago, after one of her more hefty spending sprees, Draco had made it clear to all the clothes shop owners' on Diagon Alley that Pansy was not to add her purchases to his tab, ever. She didn't speak to him, put out by his stinginess, before Blaise had brought to her attention that the bills, altogether, had come out to 500,000 Galleons. Her heart had stopped as she tried to recall what she had bought. She damned her privileged upbringing for teaching her to never worry about price! She would sometimes look at price tags, if the urge took her, but she had been shopping at _Lala Lime_ , a witch workout-clothing store that didn't believe in price tags. After she had gathered a few outfits, she hadn't wanted to ask for the price like a common witch!

Ashamed by her childish behavior, Pansy had deposited the 500,000 Galleons into the Malfoy account at Gringotts. When Draco learned of it, he apparated right into Pansy's room at the Parkinson Home and yelled in her face.

 _"Just what do you think you're doing, Parkinson?" Draco shouted, parchment clenched in his fist, which he shook angrily._

 _"Paying you back! I didn't realize I had used so many Galleons!" Pansy defended, her hands planted firmly on her hips._

 _"Well, take it back!" Malfoy ordered._

 _"No," Pansy refused stubbornly._

 _"I don't need the bloody money, Parkinson! I just don't want you bankrupting my inheritance so that I have to dip into the Malfoy funds!"_

 _"You can't tell me what-" Pansy stopped herself. "Wait, what do you mean by Malfoy funds? Isn't that the account you use now?"_

 _"Of course not! That account has the money that Malfoy businesses have made since the beginning of time! I only use the Galleons I came into when I turned of age," Draco explained. He raised his voice again. "Which is why I'm telling you to take your money back!"_

 _"I'm not going to take my money back, Draco. Stop ordering me around like we're at Hogwarts!" Pansy was ruffled, by her friend's shouts and orders._

 _"Look at this, witch, before you say no to me again!" Draco shoved the wrinkled paper from his fist in her face, the words and numbers reading blurry from the nearness._

 _"Merlin, you are_ filthy _fucking rich" she whispered, her mind going dizzy. In her hands was a Gringotts slip for the current state of the Malfoy account. The number on it was long, so long that she lost track of the commas and wondered if she could count that high. She looked back up at Draco's smirking face and said, "Give me back my Galleons, Malfoy. And wipe that smirk off your face. I already knew you were rich beyond imagination."_

 _"It's always nice to be reminded, Parkinson."_

Pansy laughed at the memory, finishing the last of her drink. She was currently on Diagon Alley. Having successfully found items that were to her taste, she had treated herself to a pumpkin pasty and a cappucino. She enjoyed the last bit of pastry, chewing thoroughly, before standing from the table.

"Ouch! Watch where you going!" someone yelped rudely.

"You watch where you're going, wanker," Pansy exclaimed, turning to see her offender. A smile curled her lips when she saw who it was. "Well, well, if it isn't the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Find-The-Loo."

Harry looked up to see the dark-haired witch. Her prettiness caught him off guard, making him forget to glare at her for nearly breaking his toe. "Pansy Parkinson," Harry said. "I should've known."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Pansy asked indignantly, attempting not to notice how well Harry had filled out. His shoulders were rounded, his arms tense with lean muscle. Her eyes dropped, taking in the lines of his legs and the bulge where the Golden Boy had decided to keep his Golden Prick free of restraining briefs.

"You were the one who yelled to give me to Voldemort, right? Why wouldn't you be the one to slice my toe off in a public location while I was innocently eating my pumpkin pasty?" he asked cheekily, astonished as her porcelain skin turned the slightest shade of pink.

"For your information, my parents were being held hostage by the bastard! Draco wasn't the only child bullied into fixing his parents' wrongs. Or rights, as it is."

Harry laughed. _Oh my, he really_ _ **does**_ _look god_ , Pansy thought as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, fending off the attraction she felt towards him.

"Relax, Pansy. I'm not angry with you, well, not anymore, at least. I just spent a bit of time with your mate, Draco, and his snappy attitude really does rub off."

She smiled. "That explains it." _Has he always had such defined arms?_ Pansy wondered. _And such thick fingers?_

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his mouth slightly open as he watched how her smile lit up her face.

Pansy felt uncomfortable under his stare. "So, where is the Weaselette? I thought you two were attached by the hip. Except for the times you're off on Auror busienss, of course. By the way, good job on catching the evil Carrow twins. Good riddance, if you ask me. Just like their uncle and aunt."

Harry thanked her, ducking his head down shyly. He caught sight of her bare legs and her muscled thighs. _Look at those pins! Such strong, trim thighs she has_. _I want those wra-_ "So, what are you doing in Diagon Alley without Nott or Zabini?"

Pansy noted how he avoided anwering her question about Ginny. "Clothes shopping. Those two refuse to come out with me because I always make them lug _those_ back," she explained, pointing to the table that had a ridiculous amount of bags on it.

"Hmm," Harry hummed, looking at them with interest. His green eyes cut to her quickly, capturing her gaze as he asked, with intention, "Do you need help carrying those home?"

* * *

Hermione returned from her meeting at St. Mungo's with an extremely satisfied look on her face.

"I've never seen you so happy after a meeting with the Greese!" Alicia noted.

"I got everything I needed this time," Hermione said, smirking. "The next time you see Miss Greese, I daresay you'll think you've stepped into another universe."

Alicia narrowed her eyes playfully. "What did you do to our beloved Hemmington?"

"Knocked her down a few pegs," Hermione offered with a serene smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," Alicia replied.

"Any messages while I was gone?" Hermione asked, turning to leave.

"Just one," Alicia hesitated. "And he's waiting in your office."

Hermione's hand froze on the handle and she turned to Alicia with a look of surprise. "Who?"

Alicia gave her a knowing look. "You know who, Hermione. You've put him off long enough."

"You let Wood into my office?" Hermione asked in a vehement but hushed tone, glaring at the brunette.

"Yes," Alicia replied confidently, straightening her shoulders. "Now go accept his dinner invitation before I offer Witch Weekly an exclusive on your romantic relationship with Harry."

"I haven't got a romantic relationship with Harry!" Hermione said affronted.

"Exactly," Alicia replied. "Now _go_. Don't keep the handsome Quidditch captain waiting."

"I don't want this Alicia," Hermione stated clearly. "I don't want him."

"Yes, I know," Alicia said. "But maybe a dinner with him will help you figure out what you _do_ want."

Hermione glared at her, pursing her lips in annoyance at the wisdom in her friends words.

' _She could be right you know_ ,' Onie responded

' _Finally she says something smart!_ ' Mia saluted her sweet counterpart.

"I hate you," Hermione said, not sure if she was talking to her secretary or herself.

' _But I love her_ ,' Mia sighed. ' _Why haven't we tried women yet?_ '

' _Mia!_ ' Onie gasped, covering her mouth.

"You'll thank me soon enough," Alicia assured. "Now stop stalling and _go_."

' _Seriously, we need to properly thank that woman with a snog_ ,' Mia squealed.

' _Hermione, do something!_ ' Onie insisted.

Hermione placed a sweet smile on her face and turned the knob.

* * *

Draco found himself in the foyer of his manor before the hour was out. The consequences of Willard's actions had been dealt out easily enough, but, still, he was tired. He'd forgotten how demanding wielding power was and silently applauded his younger self for doing so constantly.

 _'You are pathetic,'_ Vey informed. _'If you had let me be in charge, Pansy would have never had to endure the indignities from that vermin's mouth.'_

 _Why, thank you,_ Draco said. _Fortunately, I am not an idiot hell-bent on ripping the head off every person who dares look at our dear ones, so I have resisted handing you the reins and entering into a reign of terror._

 _'See! No one likes you. Go find another host,_ ' Veela added.

 _'You are just pathetic as Draco is,'_ Vey growled, _'and when I get out of here, you'll be the first to feel my wrath.'_

 _'Oh, bugger off! You can't do anything, because you'll never get out of there!'_

 _'Just you wait, harpy!'_

 _'Who are you calling harpy, beast?'_ Veela hollered, his anger reverberating through Draco's body.

 _Not a chance, you two,_ Draco thought firmly, though he could feel his nails elongating and sharpening.

 _'No! I think we should show him just what we're capable of!'_

 _There's no we about it. There's you two dolts and then there's me. Now, shut up before I decide not to pursue our mate again._ The two quit the bickering immediately, making Draco wonder why he hadn't thought of using that threat earlier.

 _'Because you were too busy being a tosser?'_ Veela supplied.

 _'No, because he was too weak to chase after his mate like a real man,'_ Vey corrected.

 _Right._

 _CRACK!_

"Lucius! What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting Pearl today?" Draco inquired.

"Sire, I's came homes to get a flower from the garden because Pearl is mad at me," Lucius explained. "I's was about to leave when I's heard something hit the window of your study. At first I's thoughts it was a bird, but thens I's noticed the noise was coming from inside! So, I's went up and guess what I's saw!"

"What?" Draco asked curiously.

"Your friend, Mr. Potter, bound your other friend, Mr. Zabini!" Lucius exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"What?!" Draco shouted. "Why would he do that?"

"I's asked Mr. Potter, sir, and he said 'I's worried the bastard will steal something else.' Excuses my language, sir," Lucius apologized shyly.

"Blaise was going through my things?" Draco concluded, tapping his chin.

"Yes, sir, that's what Mr. Potter says."

"Has Mr. Zabini said anything? Explained why he's here, I mean."

"Well, sir's, he has not said anything _yet_ ," Lucius answered nervously, looking down at his feet.

"Yet? So he's still here?" Draco asked, wondering what Lucius was nervous about.

"Yes, sire."

Draco realized he wouldn't get much more from the young house-elf, so he said, "Then take me to him." Lucius placed his hand on his master's pant leg. "We've got some serious interrogating to do!"

"Yes, sire!" Lucius cried happily, apparating them immediately.

 _CRACK!_

Lucius and Draco appeared in the main study, immediately sighting Harry standing over Blaise, who was writhing on the floor, attempting to escape his magical bonds. He wiggled around helplessly, face turned towards the carpet as he mumbled and moaned to himself.

Since Blaise had yet to notice his presence, Draco wished to remain a silent bystander for as long as he could, so he raised an eyebrow at Lucius and Harry, silently asking what they had done.

"I only bound his limbs at first, but he wouldn't stop moving so I spelled him to the floor," Harry explained. "He was going through your things so I figured I might do you a favor, bloody thief." A hearty laugh left Draco, booming against the study walls, the situation too hilarious for him to remain incognito.

"MMM-MMMM!" Blaise yelled indistinctly. "MM-MMMM HMMMM!"

"Did you spell his mouth shut, Lucius?" Draco asked, biting his lip.

"I did, sire."

"Good man," Draco complimented, stepping towards his struggling friend.

* * *

"And how have you been, Oliver?" Hermione asked pleasantly, her hands folded atop her desk.

"Good, Hermione," he replied simply, with a smile on his handsome face.

 _Well_ , Hermione corrected silently.

' _Oh shut up! Do you see his thighs?_ ' Mia whispered into Hermione's left ear.

' _Why would you be looking at his thighs? Look at those lips, so soft_ ,' Onie murmured dreamily.

' _Yes, Onie, my dear, his lips are heavenly. But those thighs tell me how hard he'll fuck us_ ,' Mia said.

' _You've always got to ruin it with your nasty-_ '

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes," Oliver said.

 _Why on earth is he here? Annoying little prick-_

' _Hermione!_ ' Onie cried.

"What is it that I can help you with?" Hermione asked tiredly.

Shaking himself from whatever state of mind he was in, Oliver sat up straighter. "I'd like to take you to dinner, Hermione. Tonight at Nern's Diner."Before Hermione could speak Oliver cut her off. "Listen, I know you told me nothing would come of our day in Diagon. I know you don't see me in a romantic light. I know you aren't expecting dinner to change your mind on this. But what's the harm in one date? At the worst it'll help me a little bit more in the tabloids," Oliver finished, imploring her to see his reasons.

His logic along with Alicia's left her leaning in one direction.

And it was a direction that Mia certainly approved of.

* * *

"So you're telling me that you were rifling through my things for some parchment?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Harry rolled his eyes, jabbing his wand a little further into Zabini's neck.

"Yes," Blaise replied enthusiastically, licking his chapped lips. His mouth had been spelled shut for the better part of an hour before Draco had rescued him. Well, rescued his mouth. The rest of his bonds had been redone to fit him to the chair.

"Sir, you parchment is in the second drawer, but Mr. Zabini was looking through the fourth one!" Lucius argued, glaring at the lying wizard.

"Shut up, you!" Blaise shouted.

Draco shot out of his chair and stalked around his desk to lean over Blaise, his fangs flashing. "Do not ever speak to him in that tone, again."

Lucius, who sat atop the desk, put his thumbs to his ears and wiggled his hands whilst sticking his tongue out. Harry laughed, giving the young house-elf a high-five.

"But – but look at him! He's taunting me!" Blaise cried.

Draco did not look. He did not care what Lucius was doing as long as it wasn't dark magic.

"Never again, Blaise. Are we clear?" When Blaise nodded his assent, Draco returned to his seat. "Good. Now, tell me the truth. What were you doing going through my desk drawers? The fourth drawer only has firewhisky and you know it."

"Really? I must've forgotten," Blaise claimed unconvincingly.

"Oh, come on!" Harry shouted. "Who on Earth apparates -"

"I used the Floo!"

"-To their friend's home to borrow some parchment! You have loads of money, Zabini! Or did your mummy run out of rich men to fuck, marry, and kill?"

"Fuck off, Potter!"

"If you don't tell me what you've done, I'll tell the Prophet that you stole Harry Potter's girlfriend and your company will never be contracted for security again," Draco threatened.

"How did you even know that? Did you tell him?" Blaise threw Harry a nasty look.

"Of course I told him, you dirty little rat!"

"I'm your best friend, Draco. You wouldn't!" Blaise said affronted.

"I would," Draco assured, thinking on the punishment he had doled out for Willard. "Spill it. Now."

Knowing that he was caught in a corner, Blaise decided to talk, regardless of the consequences Pansy would rain down on him. "Well, Pansy Floo-ed over to my estate a few days ago, ranting about 'work that had to be done,'" Blaise started.

"Salazar, save me," Draco sighed, motioning his friend to continue.

"It took us a day to get Theo in on it," Blaise said.

"To get Theo in on _what_?"

"The fact that you're a Veela and that you have a mate," Blaise replied quickly, cringing when Draco hit the desk with his fist.

"You're a WHAT?" Harry shouted, shooting up from his chair.

"Potter-"

"This is what you were trying to tell me the other night? That you're a damn Veela!""

"I was trying _not_ to tell you," Draco countered evenly. "I'm still getting used to it all."

"I can't believe this! After all the years you've been crying about pure-bloods, you're a fucking creature!" Harry howled.

Draco jumped to his feet. "For your information, Veelas are even better than Purebloods, Potter!" Blaise scoffed. "Shut up, Blaise! They're more rare than wizards _and_ have particular abilities! Not that you would know anything about it!"

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked hotly, putting his hand on his wand.

"Put your wand away!" Harry obliged him, narrowing his eyes and shoving it in the front of his jeans, the top just visible. "And I meant that you've never cracked a book open in your life!" Draco replied, coming around the desk to stand in line with Harry. "We all know you got through your classes becasues _Hermione_ checked all of your essays and forced you to study!"

"Since when do you call her that?!" He demanded, missing when the sly wizard, seated between him and Draco, gripped the top of Harry's wand with the tips of his fingers.

"Sirs," Lucius whispered, pointing at Zabini. Neither Harry nor Draco heard him for their anger.

"I see you're not refuting the point-" Before Draco could finish Blaise sprung to his feet, having freed himself of his restraints.

"Alright, now, simmer down, children," Blaise crooned, smirking and waving Harry's wand playfully.

"Shut it, Zabini!" Draco yelled before realizing Blaise was armed. Worried for Blaise's sanity and Lucius's safety, Draco crossed his arms and leaned against his desk, partially covering his favorite house-elf.

"Give me back my wand!" Harry yelled, advancing on the dark wizard.

" _Silencio_!" Blaise spelled quickly. Harry went to say something but couldn't. "What was that Potter? I can't hear you, speak up!" The look of outrage on Harry's face when he found himself taunted was comical, Draco had to admit, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to aid Blaise. Not when he needed Harry's help.

" _Finite_ ," Draco mumbled. Harry gave Draco a look of thanks.

"So, you don't want to hear the rest of the plan, then?" Blaise asked innocently, eying Potter as he twirled the holly wand between his fingers.

Draco growled. "Don't make me angry, Blaise. Need I remind you that my Veela is easily irritable?"

' _Hey that's not true!_ ' Veela cried, folding his wings.

' _Try easily irritating_ ,' Vey corrected.

' _Try certifiable crackpot_ ,' Veela mocked, bending his talons in front of his mouth to look like fangs.

' _Hmm. Yes, I agree_ ,' Vey said chuckling.

' _No, I meant you!_ ' Veela whined.

' _Did you?_ ' Vey asked mildly, grinning as Veela ground his teeth.

"Is that a yes or no?" Blaise asked haughtily, paying no mind to Draco's threat.

' _I don't like him_ ,' Vey declared suddenly.

' _Me neither_ ,' Veela grumbled.

' _Bit of an arse, eh?_ '

' _My thoughts exactly_ ,' Veela agreed.

"Why would he say no, Zabini? Obviously we want to know the plan," Harry asserted.

"No, he's just going to make something up," Draco lied quickly. He knew know, more than any other time, Blaise would enjoy being honest.

"I swear not to lie, Draco," Blaise said cheekily.

"Well, I don't believe you," Draco spit. "Get out of my house!"

"Draco, are you sure-"

"Trust me, Potter, nothing good will come of Blaise opening his mouth further." Harry looked dubious, so Draco withdrew the heavy artillery. "Look what he did with Ginny! Can you honestly tell me you want to be in the same room as that fool for another minute with that fool?"

"I have ears, you know!"

"Oh, do you really have ears, Blaise? Like all of wizardkind? We all have ears!" Draco hissed.

"Let's just see what he has to say," Harry suggested, settling back into his seat.

Blaise opened his mouth, honesty about to pour from it for the first time.

"Your company, Blaise," Draco snarled under his breath.

Blaise met the blonde wizard's eyes and was taken aback by the red he saw in them. He had seen Draco angry, Draco furious, and Draco raging, but this was something else. There was anger, yes, but, for the first time, he saw desperation in Draco's gaze. Fear and concern were there, too. It was a mixture of emotions that shook Blaise from his glee and brought him to the present situation. Slytherins were always there for each other, therefore Blaise would lie for Draco, help throw the mate business off Hermione's scent.

 _So just the normal, then_ , Blaise thought, cackling as he tapped his fingers together and thought of the lies he was going to spew to Potter.

* * *

Oliver and Hermione headed down a sidewalk in the middle of muggle London hand in hand. It was the former who had initiated it, but the latter didn't put up much of a fight.

"So, what is really on your mind, Hermione? And don't bother with the work excuse."

Hermione's head jerked back in surprise. "Have you had too much to drink, Wood?"

"No," he huffed. "Why would you think that?"

"You've never been so frank. It took you over a week to work up the nerve to ask me on a date after we'd already been on one."

"True. But, it should be noted that the first date was fake."

"Right," she snorted. "Well, to be quite honest, Oliver, I think this was a mistake. I regret accepting your invitation."

"You do know how to charm a man," Oliver replied, saracastically.

"You wanted to be frank," Hermione reminded.

"It hurts, but I'd rather know then have it all come to light after I've fallen in love with you. I suppose my situation is the only reason you said yes?" the bitter cuckold asked.

"Don't turn into a prick because I'm not interested in your prick, Wood," Hermione said before she could bite her tongue.

 _Damn you, Mia!_

 _'Oh, you love me, Hermione,'_ the witch said as she blew her a kiss.

"Well, then," Wood said, surprised more than affronted.

"Yes, well."

"Well. Well, I hope we can both catch breaks from the media for a little while," Oliver sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose I should get you back to your flat now?"

"I think I can manage," Hermione answered. "No need to drag this all out. I'll just use the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron."

"No, no, a proper wizard always drops his witch off at her doorstep," Oliver insisted.

"Listen, Oliver, dinner was lovely, but-"

Oliver pressed his finger to her lip, before she could finish.

"No. You listen Hermione. Tonight was nice, nothing more. _But_ , maybe, next time we'll have a real blast. Have some faith in me, eh?"

Hermione's resolve didn't falter as she spoke her mind. "Dinner was lovely, Oliver, but, I'm afraid we will have to restrict our relationship to friends."

"Hermione, listen-"

' _I'm done listening to this arsehole. If you're not going to fuck him then_ _ **boot**_ _him_ ,' Mia commanded, slamming her trident against Hermione's shoulder.

 _Dammit Mia!_

A spiteful bulb flourished inside her veins as Hermione pressed a firm finger to Oliver's soft lips.

"No Oliver, _you_ listen. It's over. It would be best if you came to terms with my decision sooner rather than later."

Then, taking a step back Hermione apparated.

Oliver stared at the spot she had disappeared from in confusion, before strengthening his resolve.

* * *

"Master Draco, you've got a visitor!" Lucius said from his study door, pulling Draco from his thoughts.

"At this time of night?" he wonderd, glancing at his pocket watch that read half past ten. "Who is it?"

"He said his name is Bobo Crumpet."

"Crumpler," Draco said quietly, whipping up from his seat and flying through the corridors, down the stairs, and to the front door. He tore the door open to a wizard aged around thirty years with lengthy brown hair and a thin face, wearing white and blue striped pants, a yellow button down, and had a leather bag strapped on his shoulder.

"Crumpler, what are you doing here?" Draco demanded. "I thought I told you to Floo me. The Ministry still surveils my home and I don't want He-"

"It's about Miss Granger, sir," Crumpler said. "You told me to notify you immediately, by any means possible, if there was a rubrum tempus."

Draco's anger faltered, as did his stance. He dropped his head to his hand, rubbing his temple as he leaned against the entrance of his ornate doorway.

"You mean there's a- She's gone on a-"

He couldn't finish his sentence, gulping at the flubberworm in his throat.

"Sir, she's-"

"Come in, Crumpler."

* * *

Hermione entered her flat, glaring at the pink sparkles around her but, still, feeling much better about herself. Agreeing to Oliver's dinner request had been good for her, yes, but the date hate been terrible, which meant, as Alicia had predicted, she now understood what she was looking for.

Oliver constantly spoke about himself, regaling tales of Quidditch and the celebratory nights of his epic wins. He complained about his situation in the tabloids and thanked her incessantly for her help. She attempted to relate to him, tried to find a common ground between the Head for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Puddlemere United Captain, but he was constantly interrupting her, never letting her get in a word before he starting gabbing off about another story that did nothing to connect them.

Whether it was due to nerves or a result of an inflated ego, Hermione knew she did not want Oliver or any other wizard like him. Instead of talking himself up, he should have spoken about the passion of his hobbies; instead of complaining about being followed by paparazzi, he should've been grateful to be important enough; instead of continuously thanking her for her help, he should've engaged her mind; instead of interrupting her, he should've listened.

"He's hopeless," Hermione muttered as she rifled through her dirty laundry. She was looking for a particular pair of underwear, her most comfortable ones. They were black silk with a lace edge and she'd thrown them in the bin to wash just the night before. Because the smell of freshly washed clothes reminded her so much of her childhood, she had carried the habit into her adult life by purchasing a washing machine and a dryer. Every Sunday, after she returned from the Burrow, she did a load of laundry and then went to bed folding her clothes and watching the telly.

But tonight was special. Today was special. This day marked the beginning of a new chapter in Hermione's life. She was no longer a servant of public opinion; she no longer worried about appearances. From this day forward Hermione was going to live her life the way she chose to live it. So she was going to wear her favorite underwear two nights in a row.

After a _Scourgify_ charm, of course.

* * *

Draco's fist tightened, threatening the hawthorn in his grasp.

"She was out with Wood. On a date. Tonight," he confirmed, meeting the eye of his informant.

"Yes, sir. They kissed after dinner and walked down Bond Street. She left, apparated away by herself."

"And you're sure that they didn't meet up?"

"Yes." Crumpler hesitated, "It was obvious that Miss Granger left Mister Wood by himself for the night."

There was a long pause, fraught with tension as Draco considered what his options were.

' _Go to her now and teach her a lesson_ ,' Vey ordered, baring his teeth.

' _No! No, I am as mad as you are, Vey, but she needs time! We'll see her on Sunday and we can come up with a plan by then_ ,' Veela advised.

' _We cannot reward her every time she defies us! She is begging for punishment and as her masters we must comply!_ ' Vey fought, hitting his cage.

Y _ou're right._

"I'll have to make sure of that myself, Crumpler," Draco said finally. "Lucius will see you out. Thank you."

"Of course, sir." Crumpler bowed formally before turning to the house-elf.

"If you'll follow me, Mr. Crumpet," Lucius said.

"It's Crumpler," the reporter corrected with a smile on his face.

"That's what I said, Mr. Crumpet," Lucius insisted, looking at the wizard with large concerned eyes.

"Just Bobo then," Crumpler said.

Draco didn't have the patience to enjoy the comic relief his favorite house-elf provided.

Draco didn't have time for it.

He _Accio_ -ed a black journal from his study, the one that held all of his contact information.

"H, H, H, there you are," he muttered, memorizing the information before tossing the journal to his couch and striding towards the floo.

It was time to pay his dear mate a visit.

* * *

 _I wonder where my knickers are_ , Hermione thought.

' _I bet Ron stole them._ '

' _Why would Ron steal them?_ ' Onie asked pompously.

' _Because he's a liar and a freak!_ ' Mia shouted

 _That's a bit harsh_ , Hermione admonished.

' _Thank you! Ron is perfectly lovely_ ,' Onie supplied.

 _That's a bit much_ , Hermione countered.

' _Thank you! Onie's so full of it, like she's the only one that-_ '

WHOOSH!

"The Floo? But at this time-"

WHOOSH!

Hermione took her wand from the dresser, gripping it in her hand tightly and tiptoed to the doorway of her room.

* * *

Draco stumbled out of the Floo, stepping into the deserted living room and observing the décor. Everything was simple, tasteful, and warm, aside from the hideous pink hearth.

 _Why on earth does the fireplace have glitter on it?_

Neither Vey nor Veela replied.

He heard quiet footsteps padding towards him and braced himself for indignation. He took a seat in the armchair opposite the cased opening, hardening his face and crossing his arms.

As the figure rounded the corner, entering the living room he performed a wordless lumos, lighting the area around him so that his host could see his face.

"Draco?!"

* * *

Author's Note

Review.


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